Four Seasons
by PhantomProducer
Summary: A meeting, a newly-made connection, and the paths of two people are altered as the seasons change from one to the next. What will come of it all? Modern, real-world AU (no superpowers, etc.). Complete.
1. Spring

Spring

She'd been wandering between the shelves for some time.

The afternoon rush had come and gone, the crush in the gallery had cleared, and the remaining stragglers had exited the store. All except for her. She had staggered in, gaze searching as she wandered around, her fingers barely ghosting over the numerous brushes and pencils for sale. He'd been keeping an eye on her, through ringing up the last few customers and the few glances tossed at him from the door. When the storefront had gone quiet, he'd turned to the sketchpad next to the register, his pencil tapping against the open page as he tried to concentrate on his incomplete drawing. Still, his eyes trailed over to her, on and off, the soft patter of her steps the only indication that she was a real, solid presence, and not a figment of his imagination.

In turn, she was watching him, sweating a little as he remained at his post by the register. She knew that she was the last one in the store area of the studio and gallery, and she felt entirely out of place. She'd come in on a whim, and while she didn't really regret the decision, she knew that focus was skittering over her. Braving the original crush would have been a better choice, perhaps. Then she wouldn't feel so weird, meandering around an art store in her new neighborhood and looking like a...well, a weirdo.

Looking like a weirdo to the tall, blond man at the register, his lips quirking at her uncertainty as she pretended like she knew what she was looking at.

"Hello," he called out suddenly, unable to take the oppressive quiet any longer. The young woman jumped at his words, though his voice was no louder than it normally was. Wide, brown eyes swept up to meet his bright gaze, and she blew out a short laugh at her temporary fright.

"Oh, um, hi," she greeted him, a lopsided smile on her face and a flush crawling up her neck. A corner of his mouth curved a little higher; her voice, while pleasant, pegged her immediately as a non-native. That, and the stiff way she held herself. Arms crossed over her stomach, as though to to provide a personal shield. Nervously, she tipped her head down, nodding towards the supply shelves. "Sorry, I'm just...looking around. If that's alright."

"Oh, no. It's okay," he reassured her, brow furrowing slightly. He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable. Her shoulders shrugged, fingers coming up to tuck the errant strands of her dark hair behind her ears.

"I'll be quick."

A placating hand was raised, bright eyes gleaming at her. "Really, take your time."

She smiled gratefully at him, and he couldn't help but return the expression.

"Thanks. I tried to get in earlier, but it was, like crazy-busy when I first got here," she explained, her palm tipping out and circling around the shop front, before jerking towards the gallery set-up at the back. Rolling her shoulders back, she continued, "I've been exploring the neighborhood a bit, trying to get my bearings."

His smile morphed into a half-grin, and he tucked his pencil behind his ear.

"Ah, thought you were new," he murmured aloud. Slight embarrassment fluttered over her features, and he felt his face twinge at his bluntness. Still, she managed to chuckle a little as more pink flooded her cheeks.

"What gave me away first?" she asked, taking a few steps towards him. "The lost look on my face or the voice?"

Relieved that she wasn't put off by his statement, he tipped his head to the side.

"A little bit of both," he confessed. After wiping his palm on his jeans discreetly, he reached out over the counter. "I'm Steve."

Carefully, the young woman completed her approach, taking his proffered hand and shaking it.

"Holly. Holly Martin," she introduced herself, her eyes trailing up slowly to meet his. He was a good-looking fellow from a distance, but it was a lot more obvious up close (baby blues and long lashes? Ugh, so unfair, she'd thought). Dropping his hand, hers wound up in the end of her sleeve as she went on, "In any case, since I am new, I haven't decorated my apartment yet, so I thought the gallery would be a good place to start."

The aforementioned baby blues seemed to lighten at her words, and he dipped his chin. "Well, I certainly appreciate being your first choice. And welcome to Brooklyn."

"Thank you. It's nice to meet a…well, a nice New Yorker."

Her voice had taken a sheepish cast at that confession, and Steve only lifted the corner of his mouth.

"We're not all that bad, I promise. Just a little rough around the edges."

"I'm sure," Holly retorted playfully, the tenseness in her shoulders starting to melt away. Biting her lip for a moment, she scratched at the curve of her jaw, mentally debating something. Seemingly reaching a decision, she inquired, "I'm sorry, I'm going to be terribly blunt for a moment, but I have to ask: are you famous or something? Because I mean, there were a lot of people in here earlier, and I just don't want to appear totally ignorant and insult you or something."

A lot of people, she said. A lot of women, she meant. All sorts, all ages, had clogged up the shop, perched in front of the portraits in the back and nearly refusing to let any others into the space. Being new to the community, she hadn't a clue why that was…until she caught sight of the proprietor at the till. Once she caught sight of him—tall, cut, with blond hair and a reserved grin just that side of diffident, even as he spoke easily while making a sale—she certainly had a better idea. Particularly when she overheard a few of them attempting to flirt with him as he pocketed his commission (she could've sworn she'd seen one of them flip her hair and bat her eyelashes, which made her wonder about the age of the girl in question when she did that). However, she did not want to imply that; perhaps he was a famous artist, and she was just unaware. It, after all, wasn't a community she'd been part of, so she didn't know who was making a splash in that regard.

The muted wince he gave, despite maintaining his pleasant expression, told her that he was aware of the implications that weren't being spoken.

"I have a pretty decent reputation, but as far as famous goes, not really," Steve replied, tapping a thumb on the counter top. She nodded at that.

"Oh, okay." A cheeky gleam came to her eye, and she teased, "Must be popular with the neighborhood, then."

He smirked back at her.

"Something like that," he responded, coughing a mite uncomfortably and pushing his sketchbook to the side. Gesturing towards the gallery, he invited her to go with him and take a look. The small space was well-lit, each piece receiving the focus of the track lighting above. The works ranged from photographs to paintings, pencil and charcoal drawings to sculptures. The young woman beside him gazed avidly, scanning over swiftly and unable to settle on one piece for too long. The spring of enthusiasm in her face was gratifying to see. As she stepped around and examined a few of the works, he watched, his own gaze occupied with her movements. "Anything jumping out at you yet?"

"I like a couple that I see so far. Are all of these your work, or do you feature anybody else's stuff in here, too?" Holly asked, bending and squinting at the labeling under one of them. For the most part, the works on display were his, but he featured a few from other local artists as well (he had a friend who dabbled, on and off, apparently; he had talent, but he worked full-time elsewhere). His personal preferences ranged between a few different styles, but when he pointed the particular media he enjoyed the most, she smiled widely.

"Oh, wow. My brother would love this," she said, her finger tracing along the edge of the frame of the artwork. Gesturing to the bold lines and the bright colors, she noted aloud, "He's really into the comic book style kind of art, like this."

Thinking that her brother had excellent taste (if he did say so himself), he asked her, "And what about you?"

Her smile remained as she moved to the next frame, a shoulder lifting. "I certainly appreciate it because of him. I'm more drawn to, um, realism, I think it's called, but I like that, too."

Happily enough, the portrait she paused in front was in the style she preferred, and so he walked along with her for several minutes more, small talk exchanged as she selected a couple of tiny contributions to purchase (both around four-by-six, and both experiments of his that he'd never thought would sell).

"How long have you been here?" Steve had to ask, once the tour of the gallery was finished and they moved back towards the front. He was ringing up the items at the register slowly, curious as to her answer. One of her hands twitched at the hem of her shirt and she dipped her chin.

"About two weeks. I'm still kind of stumbling around blind, but I'm trying to explore as much as I can on my free time." She canted her head a little, the overhead lights glinting and glittering over her dark irises. "It's tough, picking starting points for places."

The urge to do more, to help her, rose unbidden, and he cleared his throat.

"Well, if you're find yourself stumbling again, feel free to stop in," he offered, a wave of bashfulness flooding him. Scratching at the back of his neck, he shrugged. "I can help out around the neighborhood, at least. I'm generally here."

"As the owner of the studio, I'd hope so," she jested, smiling genuinely as she took the bag he'd placed her purchases in. The other extended once more, and he took it, shaking once again. "You've been really cool, Steve. Thanks for putting up with me."

"It was no trouble, really. And my offer still stands: you need any help with getting acquainted with the neighborhood, you can come here. I know this borough like the back of my hand."

Pausing at the door, she looked back at him over her shoulder. Her expression took on a saucy lilt, and a smirk cropped up.

"Your left or your right?" she inquired, a shade too innocently to be taken seriously. A snort shot out of his nose and he shook his head, raking a hand through his hair.

"…Funny," he retorted, sharing in her moment of hilarity with a grin of his own. At that, she giggled, lifting her hand in a final farewell and exiting the shop. For a long moment after she left, Steve was staring at the door, the sunlight of the day filling the space she had vacated. Eventually, he shook his head, all thoughts about whether or not she would take him up on his offer driven out by the need to check on the stock.

 **xXxXxXx**

As it turned out, she did take him up on his offer. Roughly four days later, as the hours crawled by and few customers had come in, the bell above the door rang. There she was, her dark eyes bright and her lips sporting a timid smile. She'd gotten twisted and turned around on her trip over to the park, and instead of relying on her wonky navigation system, she decided to try her hand with an actual native. In return for his aid, she promised him one of the treats she had stashed in her backpack, or something from whatever street vendor they bumped into first. Smiling at that, Steve had taken the opportunity to close up for a lunch break, intent on helping her find her way, his ever-present sketchbook and pencil in hand as they left. Walking along, he had questions blooming in his mind about her, ones that he posed every few seconds. It turned out that she was only a few years younger than him, her original home being a suburb outside of St. Paul, Minnesota. She'd also received a higher education, though hers was in English, rather than art. Inquiries about her family were interspersed with what she'd been doing on her days away from the studio, all of which she answered with alacrity. She, in turn, would fire back ones for him. He replied truthfully, as well as pointing out points of the path for her to remember should she come that way on her own in the future.

Although his methods of denoting particular landmarks along the way was...less than orthodox.

"Okay, you have to stop," Holly groused. Steve spiked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking.

"Stop what?"

Her brow furrowed, and she frowned slightly as she hooked her thumb to the left. "Stop using places you've gotten beaten up at as points of reference. I'm not referring to that diner as the one where you were punched so hard you flew through the back door."

Sheepishly, he ducked his head. However, his smirk remained in place. "You won't forget it, though, will you?"

She blinked up at him, and blew out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

"...Just stop," she grumbled, the grin she was fighting almost breaking through. Affixing him instead with a curious look, she wondered, "How in the hell did you survive adolescence, by the way? You make it sound like you were a walking bruise factory all the way through high school."

Clicking his tongue, he caught her elbow just before she stepped off the sidewalk. Turning them both to make a right around the corner instead, he shook his head.

"Not sure," he replied, his mouth curving. "Just got lucky, I guess. And I pretty much was one."

Holly took in a deep breath; just from the bare minimum she was hearing from him, that seemed to be the truth. "What happened to change that?"

Steve shrugged, letting his head tip back as he contemplated the answer. "Graduating and joining the army had something to do with it."

Her steps faltered when he said that, and she stared up at him. Well, that would probably explain why he was built like a brick wall. "No shit."

His palm came up, avowing his honesty.

"None whatsoever. Shot up nearly a foot during basic training. Filled out during that time and when I got deployed. Kept it that way since I got back," he told her, focusing on that aspect over the grueling hours, the pain and brokenness that lurked in the corners of his mind. Forcing his grin to remain on his face, he reported, "My ten-year reunion was a blast, let me tell you. Scared the ever-livin' out of some of those bullies that night."

"I bet," she murmured out the side of her mouth. Her eyes trailed over him as he looked across the street, taking stock of his form and exhaling quietly. With a spring of pink coloring her cheeks, she muttered, "Thank God for puberty, huh?"

"I do every day," he retorted, a laugh in his voice and his eyes still drawn to the other side of the street. Grateful that he hadn't caught her glances, she looked down at her shoes, tucking a rogue piece of hair behind her ear.

"I'm sure," she said, adjusting the strap of the messenger bag she had wrapped around her. Fiddling with it a few seconds more, she inquired, "What, um, what rank were you, or are you, I guess?"

"Captain," he stated simply. Underneath the title was a multitude of memories and currents, all molding together. It was too much to tell to someone he'd only met days beforehand, but as her steady gaze continued to meet his, as he spotted the flicker across her irises, he wondered if she didn't perhaps already understand that.

"Cool," she commented, her lips curving slightly. Leaving the statement at that, she asked him how much further to the destination in question, Prospect Park. Gesturing ahead, he told her that it was only a block or two from the nearest entrance, and they continued on their way. A street vendor hawking falafel interrupted their path, and true to her promise, Holly paid for his lunch, his pleased chewing accompanying them as they finally made their way into the park. With the weather slowly warming up, and the trees amidst the cityscape coming to life again, she had wanted to explore it a bit. Since he ran his clock for the studio, he offered to stick around for a bit, make sure she didn't get lost there. Rolling her eyes at him, she still allowed him to tag along. Skirting the playground as they entered, Holly fetched her phone from her pocket, snapping a few pictures as they passed through, the Lafayette Statue recorded along with the expanse of the meadow. Though it could not be seen, Steve had told her that on the opposite side was the Brooklyn Museum of Art, which could be a stop for another free day, if she so desired, along with the botanical garden. Smatterings of conversation passed between them, with her asking about good memories he had of the neighborhood, and him obliging. Down the paths they went, the minutes ticking by but neither of them really noticing.

"It's so pretty here," she breathed after awhile, spying a nearby bench and making a beeline for it. Steve sat with her, his sketchbook resting in his lap as she began to dig through her backpack and eat her own lunch.

"Yeah, it is. You've been to Central, right?" he inquired, wondering how much of tourist she'd been in her time since moving. When she nodded, her mouth full of food, he tipped his chin at the extensive grounds that were greening, and to the people loitering around it. With pride in his voice, he continued, "Has a lot more space, but Prospect is ours."

"Right," she replied after swallowing, taking a look down the path. Just beyond the curve were the baseball diamonds, and absently she wondered if she would be able to pop down during the summer, get in some time to brush up on her old softball skills. When she turned back, her dark eyes darted to the man beside her. Steve had relaxed into the bench, his back against the arm and one foot planted on the seat. The sketchbook that he'd brought with him was propped against his elevated knee, and a pencil was in hand. Zeroing in on it, she tipped her chin. "What are you doing?"

At once, his posture stiffened, a smattering of red invading his face. Tapping his free thumb along the papers' edge, he lifted a shoulder.

"Do you...uh, do you mind if I use you as a reference?" he asked, his pencil hovering above the fresh sheet. It had become second nature for him to just start drawing whatever had captured his attention; he hadn't actively thought about it. A seeming shyness spread over his features, and he coughed once. "Occupational hazard, sorry."

Shaking her head, she let her smile return.

"No, it's okay," she said, fluttering a few fingers at him and granting permission. His features relaxed at that, and she attempted to do the same as he lifted the pencil again. Setting about the task of finishing her lunch and clearing her face of crumbs, she let him continue in silence for several minutes. The intense sweep of his gaze lingering over her every few seconds had her a little antsy. "You done?"

He chuckled at that, his focus maintained on the paper. "Not yet. I'll let you see it when it is."

"Well, clock's ticking," she joked, tapping a finger against the watch perched on her wrist.

"You'll be waiting on it for awhile," he warned her, knowing all too well how long a simple sketch could take. Perhaps he was a little nitpicky, but he wanted even the rudimentary picture to look decent. At least partway. However, it was unlikely that it would happen in the next five minutes. Flicking his gaze up to her again, he caught the slight fidget of her fingers, the way they curled around the ends of her sleeves. She was incredibly aware of the eyes on her, even as she forced herself to look around the park. Clearing his throat, he sought to put her at ease, or at minimum, distract her. "Now, tell me what you're doing all the way out here?"

A giggle coursed out of her throat, and a bright gleam danced across her eyes. "Currently, I'm letting you sketch me, though God knows why you want to."

Clicking his tongue, he rolled his eyes and tried again. "Okay, then, specific it is: why are you in Brooklyn?"

The teasing lilt to her features began to slide away, her gaze fixing on a point far away. Her free fingers reached up and tugged on the end of her ponytail. In the midst of her silence, as she collected her thoughts, Steve resumed tracing his pencil along the paper, his scrutiny all the more intense as he waited. Soon enough, she cleared her throat, the stiffness in her posture fading as she sank back against the rest of the bench.

"I...some days I don't even know why," she professed, the gravity of her tone making his sketching still briefly. Meeting his bright eyes again, she rubbed the back of her neck. "At the core of it, I guess I just wanted to do something. I've pretty much lived in Minnesota all my life. Grew up there, went to college in-state, and all that. Didn't really know what to do with myself once I finished, and I kinda just...drifted. About three months ago, I just decided that was enough. I made myself a promise to move somewhere different, and try to make it work for at least a year." A minor tremor shook her hands, but she laced them together in her lap, feigned confidence on her features as she sat up tall. "I quit my job, put down some money for an apartment, and boom! Here I am."

"Boom, so you are," Steve concurred, admiration slowly sneaking through him. The pencil stilled against the paper, his concentration on her entirely. Tilting his head to the left, he mused, "Kinda gutsy to take a chance on a place you've never been before."

Holly mirrored his posture, lifting a shoulder soon after.

"Or stupid, but I prefer your terminology," she stated, giving him a lopsided grin. Her gaze drifted away from him, back to the greening trees and passersby moving along. The honk of car horns and wailing sirens droned in the distance, a discordant backtrack to the calm of the park. Absorbing it all, she cupped a hand in the air. "Well, it is New York, still. If I can make it there—"

A palm flew up in the air, cutting her off swiftly.

"Stop right there, Miss Sinatra," Steve crowed, shaking his head when she laughed, her own hand lifting in surrender. Well, surrender until she pushed forward and met his in a high five. Snickering to himself, he leaned back against the arm of the bench, looking her over again. Trailing from the flyway nature of her ponytail to the curve of her shoulders, he sighed deeply. Sincerely, he told her, "Well, I hope you're able to figure out things. And enjoy yourself while you're here. It's not all that bad."

Her dark brown eyes wandered across the park, over the grass and trees, then back to him. Her grin became all the more genuine, and a little pink flushed into her cheeks.

"No, it really isn't," she agreed, and he could swear he felt the tips of his ears burning as warmth invaded her voice. Another shrug, and she looked away again. "And I've got a year; I'm sure I'll have something worked out by then."

Nodding along with her, Steve resumed his drawing, and Holly sat back again, both content to spend a few more minutes in peace at the park.

 **xXxXxXx**

With the abrupt departure from her home and everything she had known over her life, it was inevitable that Holly would be in a precarious position, financially speaking. The last few years, she had been working for the box office of professional theater in the cities, and while it wasn't the most lucrative position, it had allowed her to accrue some savings. It had enabled her to make the move, but she knew it would not continue to indefinitely support her. Not through bills and payments, let alone catching up with her student loans. She was lucky enough to have scored a position as the registrar for a dance studio, her previous administration experience during school and afterward paying off. However, it was ludicrous to think that salary would maintain an apartment on its own, and so she branched out elsewhere. A coffee shop several blocks away from her new home had flexible hours and the pay was decent enough to supplement what she was currently making.

In between her adventures of the neighborhood—and the tours occasionally guided by a certain Steve Rogers—she could be found plodding her way to and from the locations, the dance studio to the west and the coffee shop to the south. It was the latter she was returning home from in the late afternoon, the city air warming as the breezes drifted past her. She didn't doubt that once summer rolled around, they would become heavy and stagnant on occasion, but she could treasure the greening of the fenced trees on the sidewalks and the stir of their new leaves as she went by. She could pretend, as she looked upon them, that she was in the park, even as she strode home for some dinner and Netflix. A lull in the traffic allowed to quickly dodge across the street, her backpack thumping against her back as she booked it (she wasn't going to wait for a taxi or an Uber driver to run her down at the crosswalk). She tugged on her jacket, pulling it a bit tighter around her, to shelter her black shirt and block out the tiny logo stitched to it, the last song on her playlist falling away and leaving her in silence. Well, in musical silence; no city was ever truly quiet. Car horns, sirens, church bells...not to mention the people flitting and babbling around every corner. Though, for the moment, the street she'd found herself on had relatively low foot traffic.

That should have been her first clue. The second was the guy leaning against the wall of the brick convenience store she passed. Dark hair was slicked back, his hands tucked into the pocket of his baggy hood, and he toed the sidewalk with his shoe. Still, his gaze ricocheted up to look at her as she passed, a cigarette and lighter appearing in his palms.

"Hey, sweetheart, got the time?" the guy mouthed around his cigarette, a puff drawn in as he lit it. Resolutely, she dug her hands deeper into her pockets, her pace increasing as she walked on by. Inwardly, she groaned at his use of a pet name, and the displeasure manifested as a frown. Pretending she was engrossed in the nonexistent music playing into her earbuds, she sauntered by him, another few feet of concrete churned beneath her. Instead of being deterred, as she hoped he would be, she heard the crunch of footsteps pick up as she passed, the acrid smell of his cigarette floating along. A derisive snort flew out of his nose, and she couldn't help the minute flinch that twitched her shoulders. "Oh, too good to talk to me? C'mon."

Dryness began to invade her throat, but she was determined to keep going. Pacing a little faster, she was disheartened to hear the ones behind her matching her treads.

"I'm not goin' anywhere until you talk to me, honey," the man said, the lackadaisical tone becoming cold. A sick slide wormed its way through her gut, and before Holly could take another breath, her arm was grabbed. Her fingers enclosed around her keys and the canister of pepper spray, but she was preempted from removing it by a sharp twist he gave her arm. Groaning, she tried to shimmy away, his disgusting breath blowing over her face as he bent closer. The cigarette was dropped to the ground, put out by his heel as he sneered at her.

"Uh-uh. Bad move, girlie." A painful squeeze enfolded her arm, and she bit her lip, cutting off the whimpers before they could escape. It hardly mattered, as the guy could clearly see the rise he was getting out of her. Glancing around, she could see that the closest people were at the end of the block, walking in the opposite direction; yelling for help might not do her any good. His own hand had disappeared into his pocket, a folded handle retrieved. A glint of silver peeked out, and she gulped. Toying with it for a few seconds, he let his eyes run over her, a smug smirk playing over his lips. "Got a wallet? Better hand it over."

"Better rethink that, pal," a new voice cut in then, and Holly whipped her head around, her eyes wider than before. Steve stood just on the other side of the mugger, his fists clenched at his side and his blue eyes narrowed. Where on Earth had he come from? Drawn to his full height, he looked down at the guy grabbing her, his stature and set jaw enough to give the other fellow pause. Icy eyes flicked from the greasy guy to her, at once assessing whether she was alright. Her body language all but pleaded for his help, even as she minutely shook her head. It wasn't worth the trouble, she thought; she didn't want things to escalate further. However, he did not release her, and the guy somehow found the gumption to glare back.

"Fu—" The growling curse was cut off, the sick crunch of a fist hitting the guy's face. The mugger stumbled away, his sharp grip around Holly's arm jerking before he dropped it. Cupping his hands around his nose, it was clear that a rivulet of blood was starting to pour from it. Muffled gasps and wheezes emanated from him, and he groused, "Prig…"

Freed, Holly barely had any time to react as Steve stepped between her and the mugger, his body shielding her from harm. Her fingers still dug around in her pocket, desperately pulling even as her new friend continued to stare down the guy.

"You've got five seconds to get outta here before I really let you have it," the blond man threatened, fists curling even tighter than before. His shoulders tightened as the mugger rose slowly from his crouch, and Holly's gasp could not be subdued when the bloodied-faced guy brandished his folded knife. That time, it was clicked out, the blade turned toward Steve. The harried look in his eye seemed to grow manic, and she could not help the sick, freezing slide drop into her gut. Steve eyed the knife with distaste, but he let his palms loosen. Still, the other guy was not going to drop the matter.

"Man, shut the fu—"

"Hey!" Holly barked. When the guy's focus latched onto her, the gleam of fury in his eye made her stomach tighten, and her limbs almost locked up. However, she reacted automatically, hand rising and thumb jabbing down on the button on the canister as she aimed it around Steve. Pepper spray streamed out, a gush of mist clouding over his face and dispelling into the air. While it downed the attacker without issue, it also floated around them, and soon enough her own eyes were watering, with Steve coughing hard.

"Oh, Jesus!" he gaped, tapping against his chest with one hand and covering his mouth and nose with the other. "Strong…"

"Good Lord," she moaned, the sting in her eyes not enough to deter her from scooping up her phone. As she dialed in the number for the police, Steve had also powered through the putrid cloud, kicking the guy's knife away and getting the drop on him. Once immobilized, arms twisted behind his back and Steve's knee wedged into his spine, the mugger could only spit obscenities at the pair of them until the cops arrived. Statements were taken, first from Holly, and then Steve's corroboration and explanation of his presence (he'd been passing on the opposite side of the street, intent on getting to the bodega a block down, when he'd spotted what was going on; it was literally a case of right place, right time), and soon enough the mugger was bundled into the back of a car.

"Mighty risky of you to do that," Steve told her after a short trip to the police station a few blocks over, the paperwork for charges to be completed and filed. She'd just come back after filling out the last sheet, the paleness of her face not abating in all that time. He'd done the same, but he'd managed to finish faster, and so he'd waited for her, wanting to make sure she was okay. Deep concern was etched into his features, which prevented her from snapping back.

"I know," she replied, owning up to her actions. Wincing slightly, she also said, "Sorry about, well…"

She gestured to the canister in her pocket, and he immediately shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," he said, brushing it off. A wry twist came to his lips, and he murmured, "At least you know it works."

Holly snorted at that, fiddling with the strap of her bag and shaking her head.

"Yeah, thank goodness." Risking another glance up, meeting his sharp gaze, she cupped a hand in the air, wishing to explain herself further. "I should've just left him to you, I know. But then I thought he was gonna stab you and, I didn't…

She trailed off, noting the muted surprise invading his features. He clearly had not expected her to do what she'd done in the first place, and had not expected her to be protective of him. From the little of his past that he'd shared with her, she knew that he had come to learn that he had to stand up for himself, even if others stood with him. Someone actively working for his safety over their own was not typical those days, it seemed.

Coughing once, she graced him with a tiny grin. "Well, whatever. Thank you."

He dipped his chin, taking a deep breath. "No problem. I was nearby; it wouldn't have been right to just ignore what was going on."

Holly digested that, allowing quiet to descend upon them both for a few moments. The ring of phones and the shuffle of papers from the nearby officers drew her out of her sudden reverie, and she flapped a hand back at the rest of the station.

"They need any more from you?" she wondered, with Steve canting his head in denial.

"No. You?"

"I'm free to go now." Swallowing hard, her hands tucked into the ends of her jacket's sleeves, and she bit her lip for a few seconds. Finding the gumption to continue, she implored, "Would you, would you mind maybe walking me home? They said they'd have an officer escort me, in case you've gotta be somewhere."

In all honesty, her apartment was not terribly far from the police station, and she didn't want to impose on them any further than she had to. She trusted Steve, trusted him to walk with her and make sure she came away unharmed. His lips curved then, his half-smile blooming.

"Was about to offer, honestly," he stated. Gesturing over his shoulder towards the front door of the station, he said, "Ready to go when you are."

Quickly pattering after him out the door, Holly reached out, her fingers curling around his bicep as they walked down the sidewalk. When he shot a look at her hand, she squeezed gently, gratefulness in her eyes and voice when she spoke again.

"Really, Steve, thanks." Another squeeze, and she dropped her hand back to her side. A flush of red was bleeding over his face, and he ducked his head slightly. Smirking up at him, she proclaimed, "If superheroes were real, I would definitely nominate you to be one."

His own grin grew wider, absolutely pleased at her words. Lifting a shoulder, he replied, "So long as I wouldn't be forced to wear tights."

A minute shudder ran down his back, something that Holly caught. Tilting her head to the side, she leveled him with an inquisitive look as they walked.

"I feel like there's a story behind that," she said, the leading tone in her words encouraging him to tell her about what caused the look of discomfort on his features. In response, he barked out a laugh, his head tipping back for a second or two.

"Another time," he promised, tucking his hands into his pockets and the conversation closed; his forays into the grade school drama club world could wait. The pair walked in companionable silence as the day slid closer to night. It took awhile to get back to her apartment building, a lot of cutting across streets and darting to avoid the worst of the traffic, but they eventually made it to her place. The brick building swam into view, and quickly she was digging in her pocket again, her keys fished out. Approaching the outer door, he spotted the increased shake in her hands as she fumbled them, and he couldn't stop himself from gripping her elbow. A hard flinch flashed over her, though she relaxed when he did no more than steady her arm. In a hushed tone, he asked, "You gonna be okay?"

The answer was written all over her, with him knowing it well before they'd gotten to the apartment building, but he wanted to hear the words aloud. To help her further, if she needed it.

"I, I think so. It's still kinda...sinking in, but I think I'll be alright. Soon enough," she confessed, mentally working through her thoughts out loud. A part of her thought she'd been in shock, or at least a form of it, since Steve had first showed up on the scene, but she knew, deep down, that she wouldn't be getting over it any time soon. She knew she'd be hyper-vigilant for the next little while, if not for the rest of her tenure in the city, and she wouldn't allow herself to trust others so easily. Not all of them would be like Steve, who was genuinely kind and protective. The groove in her brow didn't dissipate, but she did manage to shoot him a dry grin. Woodenly, she intoned, "Welcome to New York, huh?"

Steve scoffed audibly, raking a hand through his hair and skewing the blond locks.

"Some welcome," he muttered, feeling incredibly sorry that her first weeks in a new city were marred in such a way. Still, she showed remarkable fortitude in carrying on, shaken though she still looked. Opening his hand, he pointed to the phone that was held loosely in her grasp. Quietly, he asked, "Can I?"

Slowly, she nodded, handing him the device after unlocking it for him. Tucking back some of the strands that fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear, she waited as his fingers flew over the screen. In a few short seconds, he held it out to her to take. On the screen was a new contact page, his name and number already typed in.

Tapping the edge of the phone as she retrieved it, he let seriousness invade his expression. "Just in case you get into anymore trouble, you get in touch, yeah?"

Something like warmth spread through her chest, a sense of safety blanketing her as she inclined her head.

"Yeah. You, too," she returned, causing him to stare at her for awhile. It wasn't much, she knew, to offer her own brand of help to a capable soldier, to a man who clearly knew how to handle himself, but he'd made his in good faith. He deserved no less in return. He blinked, and then he dipped his chin, the barest hint of a smile curving his lips. Steve stepped back, and she turned to work her key into the lock, her hand no longer trembling. Once she'd worked the door open, she hovered in the entry, looking back at him and preparing to bid him farewell for the night. However, he cut into her thoughts and spoke first.

"G'night," he murmured, half-turning to go. Pausing, he glanced back at her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket as he cleared his throat. "And, um...thank you, too. I'm glad you had that can on you."

She snickered, and jingled her key ring. "Thank my mother's paranoia about big cities."

A chuckle floated out of him, the final good-byes exchanged before she disappeared behind the door of her building. Letting out a slow breath, Steve pivoted, making it less than six feet down the block when his phone chirped in his pocket. Snatching it up, he grinned fondly down at the screen when he unlocked it, the new text message reflecting up at him.

 _You're welcome._

 **xXxXxXx**

After the interrupted mugging, Holly took the opportunity to get in touch with Steve. What had started as little texts inquiring after him during random days, evolved to pictures exchanged when one or the other was bored at work. Articles about silly things ("I didn't really need to know those fifteen mind-blowing facts about the third Harry Potter movie," Steve had told her, though he sent one back about the outrageous theories about certain Disney films and a winking emoji. She'd rolled her eyes, but read it all the same, taking the opportunity to further engage in discussion the next time she stopped in at the studio) were then followed by actual phone calls. One of which that Steve initiated involved recommending a self-defense course, headed by an old high school friend. A few days later, she found herself on the mat of a beginner's course, Ms. Natasha Romanoff more imposing than her minute stature gave credence to, at first. (Although, Holly would later argue that her natural beauty was more intimidating than any moves that she'd taught; the petite redhead was downright gorgeous, and she had no idea where all the pretty people were coming from in her life at that point.) Following her instructions as closely as possible, Natasha appeared to take a liking to her. Well, enough of one that she let some of her stony facade slip as she taught her the proper way to block her body against an attacker.

And when Steve invited her to a small get-together at the end of the month, alluding to the fact that she would know somebody other than him there, she did not feel like she could refuse. Having been in Brooklyn for nearly a month and a half, she hadn't had the best of luck at making new friends. Not to say she was antisocial or anything, but working as much as she did, it was hard to find the time. His invitation was a reminder for her to alter the facts at the earliest possible moment.

It turned out, he was correct: she did know one other person when they'd arrived at the small place on Lefferts Avenue. Natasha greeted them at the door, immediately pulling Holly in for introductions all around. The owner of the apartment, one Bucky Barnes, had said his hellos as well, a charming smile in place as he dropped a line about hearing so much about her from his friend (she'd laughed and brushed it off, while from behind her Steve sent him an alarmed look). Tall, dark, and handsome had evidently been the mold he'd been made from, his shoulder-length hair gathered into a ponytail and his blue eyes bright with humor. Mildly, she retorted that she'd heard quiet a bit about him as well, particularly as he was Steve's oldest friend. Liking her spunk, he invited her to help herself to the goods in the kitchen. He'd also appeared tired, as he'd recently started the building season in the construction firm he worked with. Still, he was gracious enough to lead the way, asking quickly what had been said about him. Another nervous chuckle was the answer, and the brunet man simply let her go.

From there, she encountered several others: a Sam Wilson who had served overseas as well, his unit often working in conjunction with Steve and Bucky's had stationed himself in the kitchen, handing her a beer with an easy smile. Beside him was a girl with auburn hair, her accent thick as she introduced herself. Wanda Maximoff's green eyes flashed at her when she stated that Steve had brought her with, though she merely wondered if she were the out-of-state person he'd mentioned before. The two bonded quickly over shared stories of their first days in a big, scary new city, as Wanda had transferred for work in the administrative offices for the construction company. Taking her drink, she followed the other young woman out into the living room, both of them plopping down onto the plush, gray couch that nearly dominated the space. More of the space was filled by a veritable behemoth of a fellow, idly switching the music on the player between jazz and classic rock. Thor Blake was a massive, blond with a hearty laugh that cracked and boomed when she remarked out loud upon his size. He certainly took after his Norse ancestors, he claimed, right down building their weaponry. Though his metalwork orders were for aficionados and collectors rather than for actual combat, but it was all the same to him. He'd come into the circle when he started to teach martial arts part-time to children in the space one floor down from Natasha. Beside him was a pretty brunette, encased in a flannel shirt and her brown gaze firm. Jane Foster, after a careful greeting, quickly spoke of her work in astrophysics, which threw Holly for a loop. She'd never known an astrophysicist before, and she soon found herself mired in a conversation about the amazing strides Jane was taking. Spying the proud look on Thor's face, and the small smiles she would direct at him in between speeches, Holly mentally added asking how those two had met onto her list of topics. Even despite all that, even despite feeling slightly intimidated by the others filling the room, she was holding her own, answering questions about herself with her typical forthrightness and solidity. All in all, she thought she was acquitting herself well, even though her gaze would stray to wherever Steve was at that moment. Catching him returning her gaze often, he would give her a careful smile or a nod, silently encouraging her as she went on mingling.

Steve, for his part, was pleased that his group of friends were receptive to Holly. Before picking her up and bringing her over, he'd had a rogue worry spiking through him that she wouldn't meet with approval, despite there being no good reason in his mind. He'd hoped, he wanted, them to like her, to see her and welcome her. As he stood near the arch of the kitchen that looked out over the living room, over them all, he observed her as she tipped a palm out, admiring the metalwork hammer necklace Thor had made for himself. Warmth was sneaking through his system as her eyes lit up, questions about its significance falling from her tongue. Rotating the bottle of beer he had in hand, he noticed Bucky leaning against the nearby counter, a knowing look on his face and a smirk blooming.

"What?" Steve asked, his gaze hardening as his oldest friend shook his head.

"Nothing," Bucky responded innocently, the glimmer in his cornflower blue eyes reflecting the exact opposite. The blond grunted to himself; From childhood all the way to the unit they had both been assigned to overseas, the other man had known exactly which buttons to press so that he could get a rise out of him. Waiting for the clincher, Steve was not stunned when the brunet fellow supplied, "I'm just shocked you brought a girl. Without my help, I mean."

A mocking laugh coursed out of the taller man, and he rolled his eyes.

"That's why you were put on this earth: to be my permanent wing-man, whether I want you to be or not," he riposted, taking the opportunity to swallow some of his beer before thinking too hard about what he'd said. A hand clapped his shoulder, and he glanced back as Sam nodded.

"God's honest truth, right there," Sam proclaimed, raising a palm heavenward. Taking a peek at the room over his shoulder, he focused on the brunette woman on the couch, her attention now turned back to Wanda. Scanning her briefly, he flicked his dark gaze over Steve. "She's cute."

"Hmm," Steve grunted noncommittally, another long pull taken from his drink. It wasn't like his friend was wrong; Holly did look nice, with her brown waves pulled up into a messy bun and her usual jeans traded for a dress. Before he could stop himself, he let his eyes flit down her legs, to the tops of the boots concealed by the coffee table in front of her. The warmth grew, and he felt the flare invade his face. Coughing hard, he shifted his stance discreetly. However, the movement was not lost on Wilson or Barnes, the pair of them sharing a look before Bucky hooked a thumb at Holly.

"...You gonna do something about that, or..." he wondered, letting the question dwindle as he watched the red in his friend's face flush darker. Ever since Steve had first brought up the new girl he'd met, he'd been curious as to his state of mind regarding her. After all, it had been awhile since he'd shown anything but platonic interest in a woman, and just from his tone of voice, he suspected something was slightly different that time around with Rogers. Perhaps he was testing his luck with prodding the beast, but he'd yet to get a straight answer out of Steve, and it was good a time as any to figure it out, in his opinion. Sam nodded, curious about the answer as well.

Something like a twist registered in Steve's gut, and he narrowed his eyes at his two friends. It was time to set them straight.

"Look, she's new in town, hasn't made a lot of friends, I thought it would be a nice gesture to bring her along. End of story," he said, his tone clinical and firm. The twist in his gut pinched a little harder, telling him that he was stretching the truth, but he pushed it down. Instead, he spiked an eyebrow at Bucky's earnest look. "Besides, aren't you with Nat, or are you guys doing that whole break BS again?"

That wiped the pleased expression off his face. "Shut up."

"For the record, it _is_ the break BS again," Sam interjected, a winded grunt knocked out of him when the back of Bucky's hand smacked into his stomach. The back-and-forth flow of relations between the redheaded beauty and their close friend had been a subject of debate and fodder for the gossip mill for over seven years, after the horrid fussing they'd done around each other since high school. It could get tiring just keeping track of where they stood with one another, but one could not deny that it kept things interesting between Bucky and Natasha. Steve snickered at that, taking a pull from his own bottle; it certainly wasn't something he could ever be a part of, and he could only marvel at his friends engaging in that way for all that time.

"Figured as much," he muttered aloud, earning another scowl from his best friend.

"The situation with Nat is none of your business," Bucky grumbled, giving them both hard glances. Raising his free hand, he jabbed his forefinger in his oldest friend's direction. "And you're avoiding my question."

Ice blue eyes flickered over the brunet man, a shoulder lifting. Fetching up a fresh bottle from the fridge, he popped the cap on it. Holding it and his own in his hands, he dipped a nod to Barnes and Wilson.

"See you out there," he said, pivoting on his heel and walking towards the arch.

"Seriously, you're just gonna..." Bucky trailed off, shaking his head as Rogers wedged his way between the coffee table and the couch where the Holly girl was sitting. As he sat, he proffered the bottle to her, light smiles playing across their faces as she took it and drank. Eventually, Barnes finished, "Walk away."

Sam snorted, entirely unsurprised by the turn of events. "You pushed, you knew the consequences."

Barnes scoffed, flapping a hand out. "Of course I pushed. I've been his best friend since preschool; how could I let that slide?"

"Whatever, dude," Wilson retorted, draining the last of his bottle. Fetching up another, he moved closer to the arch again, joining Bucky in scanning over the room. Old habits truly did die hard, but at least they could be certain that no enemy insurgents had invaded the apartment. Instead, he found his focus being pulled to the couch, where Steve and his new friend were listening avidly to a story Natasha was telling. Behind the couch, Wanda had braced her arms along the back, Thor and his girlfriend Jane having taken spots on the floor to listen. Reaching the end of her tale, which involved a well-placed kick and taking a rambunctious student down a peg, the others laughed along with the redhead, Thor attesting to the truth as he had been in the class that day. As he spoke attention turned to him, though Sam's moved over to the other blond man, his subtle shifting towards the brunette to his left not unnoticed. Dipping his chin, he let his glance slide sideways towards Barnes. "You think he will?"

"We'll see," Bucky said, shaking his head and sipping his beer. Time would tell exactly what happened there. In the meantime, he was content to merely watch as his friend and the new girl at his side occasionally caught themselves leaning towards one another as they spoke, the unconscious undercurrent running strong for the moment.

* * *

 **A/N:** So this is a project that I started working on months ago, and only recently picked up again. I wanted to do something a little different, in that I would take my original character—Holly Martin—and place her in a slightly altered setting of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and see how it would affect her interactions with one Steven Grant Rogers. And thus, this puppy was born. This is the first of a four-part series, which I will be updating sporadically. As my full priority will be given to my other story, _In Due Course_ , I cannot honestly say when the next update for this will be. However, I do intend to finish it in time, and I hope you will all bear with me.

Yes, this is a modern, real-world AU, and yes, that means no superpowers for any of the Marvel heroes mentioned in the text. Also, it is a Steve/OC friendship-turned-romance story. If any of that isn't your cup of tea, then that's fair; I wish you well in your reading endeavors once you leave this page. I just want to see if I can make this work. One more thing: this story is UNBETA'ED. This is mostly due to my personal schedule being a little different from others'. As such, I do proofread, edit, and restructure my own writing. I try my best, but I am not perfect.

Any landmarks/streets/parks in Brooklyn, New York were described via online research. My last trip to New York City was eleven years ago, and even then, I only had the chance to explore a bit of Manhattan. Therefore, I may not be 100% accurate in my descriptions. I tried, I swear!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any of the pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Netflix, Uber, Disney, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	2. Summer

Summer

The warmth of the earth grew with each passing day, the lightness of spring beckoning to the fullness of summer. The greenery in the park was permanently in place for the coming months, the corner of the globe housing Brooklyn, New York readying itself for the turn of the season. As the city began to warm and whisper about the approaching days, so too did its citizens.

"Seriously? Every weekend?" Holly wondered, resting her elbows on the end of the counter. As she was not scheduled to go into work until the evening, she had stopped by the studio with homemade treats that had been airmailed. In between ringing up customers and greeting newcomers, Steve welcomed her visit and her proffered treats, eagerly indulging in the repast when he could. In answer to her question, he nodded.

"Nearly. It's the first time I've been booked for art fairs throughout the summer in the city," he explained, excitement lining his face as he mused upon his good fortune. Since he'd established the studio, he'd had to do craft fairs and art shows to keep afloat in the outer community. He'd secured a slot at one of the bigger ones in March, but widespread exposure throughout New York would do just as well. Generally, he tried to keep a lid on such things, but when Holly had stopped by, he couldn't help but share. "Usually I have to comb through upstate or go out west to do so."

"Out west," his companion chortled, canting her head before propping her chin in her hand. "You make it sound like you're heading to Wyoming or something."

Visualizing the jagged peaks and dense vegetation such scenery could offer, he breathed distractedly, "Now that would be interesting to capture. Get some inspiration from the Rockies..."

"They are pretty," she agreed, her tone a touch wistful. Off his questioning look, she tilted her head. "We went to Yellowstone for a family trip one summer. Best part of it was the side trip to Montana. Minimum speed limit of sixty in some areas. I had gotten my license that year, and insisted I drive."

Steve barely managed to cut off his bark of laughter, though some of the customers on the far side of the studio shot him startled looks.

"And how many heart attacks did your parents have then?" he inquired, biting into a cookie soon after.

"None, but my dad said that if we'd stayed longer, his hair would've gone white," she responded, her own giggles petering off. Plucking up another treat for herself, she murmured, "Anyway, back to the art fairs and stuff..."

"Not much else to say. I go, I set up, I wait for people to take an interest, and then sell what I can. It's generally only a single day I get at these things, so I'm going to try and make a killing this year."

"Do you need any help for it?" she asked, looking at him almost hopefully. With the summer months stretching out before her, she didn't have a clue what to do with her time in between work, save for meeting up here and there when her new circle of friends got in touch with her. Moving to Brooklyn was supposed to mean having new experiences, and not falling completely into the patterns she'd submissively sat in for years after college had ended. Attending art fairs, better yet helping one of the artists for those art fairs, could accomplish that.

And, she posited inwardly, she wouldn't mind at all, since it would be Steve she would be assisting. As the days went on, she realized how much she enjoyed spending time with him, his touch of honesty and his self-effacing manner all the more likeable as time passed. For his part, Rogers let his lips curve into a half-grin, a hand coming up and raking through his hair, the strands flopping a bit as he thought about it. Worried that he might reject her offer, even politely, she opened her mouth, making her case.

"I've got a little extra time, and both jobs are flexible. It's an extra pair of hands around," she told him, unable to stop herself from adding, "and it would be neat to see more of the city."

"Actually, it would be nice to have some help," he confirmed aloud. Narrowing his gaze in on her slightly, he tilted his head to the right. "It's usually an all-day thing, though. You think you'd be able to put up with me for that long?"

Matching his expression briefly, Holly tapped her chin dramatically with one finger as her eyebrows scrunched together in thought.

"It will be a test of fortitude, I will give you that." When he rolled his eyes in jest, she stuck her tongue out at him and tapped his shoulder. "Nah, it'll be fun."

"Sometimes," he countered. When she inclined her eyebrows, he continued, "Sometimes it's a real pain figuring out how to get canvases on and off the train."

A shoulder lifted, her pleasant smile never wavering. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

And so, Steve gave her the tentative dates for the fairs and open markets he'd snagged spots for. Holly could easily work around the weekends he'd been enlisted for; the ones during weekdays would be a bit more of an issue—some she could help out with set-up, others with tear-down, and a few in August were too far ahead to plan out for. Marking down the ones she knew for certain she could help out with, she intended to do as she'd set out: help where she could, and see parts of the city she hadn't been to yet. The first weekend was interesting, in regards to set-up and tear-down; that one had taken place in the first floor of a wide office building, with it being more like a reception rather than a fair-esque thing. Still, transactions did occur, and with her manning the cash box and him chatting up whomever took an interest, they found a flow that worked. From Washington Heights to Harlem they would trek on the weekends, parks and even closed streets acting as the venues. The thriving community she had not had much of a sense of beat around Holly, Steve acting as her introductory guide throughout those first few weeks of May and into June. She placed herself in his expert care in that regard, and looked forward to whatever he could impart to her then.

Truth be told, she looked forward to spending time with him regardless of content, a fact that was becoming more and more obvious to her mind as the days stretched and temperatures rose. And, if his demeanor around her was any indication, he felt the same way. A fortunate friendship was found in him, and she was glad to maintain it.

"Whatcha got planned for Independence Day?" she asked the weekend before the holiday in question, with the intention of maintaining said friendship. Looking over at the artist extraordinaire after ringing up a sale for one of his prints, she waited for his answer. A muted wince shot over his face at that, but before she could wonder why he'd done so, a voice broke the air.

"Oh, you mean his birthday?" Bucky piped up from his perch, hopping off the unoccupied end of the table she was at. He'd also come along for the weekend, a few of his works on display in the tent as well since he worked on commission for Steve at times. With his few paintings hanging up alongside his friend's, he used the opportunity to break away from Brooklyn, clear his head of the back-breaking labor and hardness of the work he'd done during the week. It was also an excuse to trade banter and catch up with his oldest friend (and shooting discreet looks between him and the brunette girl that had come along, more often than not, during that time as well).

Holly's dark eyes went wide as she looked to Steve his arms folding as he settled against one of the tent's posts.

"Your birthday is the Fourth of July?"

The blond man nodded, his palm extending upward in mock solemnity.

"Hand to God." His hand dropped, landing on his thigh and picking at the seam of his jeans. (It was a bit too warm for them, but he knew he couldn't parade around in his ragged cut-offs there.) Shrugging a shoulder, he muttered, "It's...whatever."

Barnes rolled his eyes, not having his attitude at the moment. "You don't look cool if you hate a holiday just because it's the same day as your birthday, man."

Steve rolled his eyes and set his jaw. "I don't hate it."

"You just don't like that it earned you that nickname."

"What nickname?" Holly interjected, intrigued now. Ice blue eyes shot to her in alarm, before flicking back to the brunet man, silent warning in them.

"Buck..." he nearly growled, but Barnes lifted an eyebrow. Instead of feeling threatened, he took it as a challenge.

"He didn't tell you? Our unit gave it to him when they figured it out," he replied, pulling his hair back with the binder secured around his wrist (the undamaged one; maneuvers gone wrong had extensively damaged the left arm, Holly had learned, leaving him with terrible scars and being discharged a short time after surgery. All of which he'd either hinted at or she'd gleaned from Steve's few comments, the details still buried but the evidence on display every so often). Another groan was huffed out of Steve, and his jaw had stiffened mulishly.

"It wasn't funny then, and it's still not funny now."

"Oh, lighten up, _Captain America_ ," the brunet man ground out, causing Steve to drop his head in his hands, grumbling audibly. Glancing over to Holly, Bucky had the pleasure of seeing her cup a hand over her mouth, a surprised giggle cut off swiftly. Slapping his oldest friend on the back and sporting a shit-eating grin, he continued, "He used to be really into the holiday when we were kids, all about the fireworks, stars and stripes, the whole shebang. Well, until a couple guys in the unit figured it out. Gabe and Morita had a ball with it, getting in red, white, and blue banners for him one year."

His grin widened, and even Steve couldn't help the touch of amusement and fondness lighting his irises. Despite the teasing, it was worth it. When the CO had secured permission for the guys to do the set-up, it had turned into a bastardized version of the holiday out in the desert, and none of them could really find fault in that. Brought back into the present moment by another clap on his shoulder, he felt the amusement drop slightly when Barnes continued to spill.

"I'd never been gladder to be a sergeant in all my life; lower rank meant getting messed with less."

Steve clicked his tongue, unfettering his tongue then. "Uh-huh, laugh it up, _Bucky Bear_."

While Holly merely frowned in confusion, Bucky felt the blood drain from his face, his jaw slackening.

"How did you—?"

"Heard it from Nat. Well, indirectly." He coughed hard, some color flooding into his face when he struggled to complete his explanation, "She's quite a, erm, vocal person, when she wants to be. Particularly when she thinks she's alone. Or, um, when she thinks she and her partner are alone, not being visited by a friend who came in through the half-opened door."

A brief moment of silence followed, and Steve ducked his head as his two friends just stared at him.

Holly's jaw snapped shut, and she sputtered, "What in the actual fu—"

"And that's part of the reason why Buck and I don't live together," the blond hastily continued, not willing to let the silence stretch or to let Holly finish the thought. Shuddering his shoulders, he muttered, "Stumbling upon that weirdness already makes me nervous about the integrity of the horizontal surfaces in his place nowadays."

"How long have you been holding onto that?" Bucky asked, incredulity outlining his face before he shook his head. "Jesus..."

"Okay, I just wanted to know what you were doing for the day," Holly said, bringing up her hands in a palm out gesture, brushing away the conversation still lingering in the air. "Didn't need to hear that whole...mess."

Both men shifted a bit uncomfortably, gratefully latching onto her initially-posed topic. The day itself would be time off from work for Bucky, with him joining Nat and Thor for a day out in Manhattan. Steve, apart from ordering in food from his favorite diner, objected to having any sort of fuss made for his birthday; he had an art project that he'd been delaying working on for several weeks, and that would be his first opportunity to get a good crack at it. Fireworks were out of the question, both for him and Buck (haunted looks decorated their faces at that confession, and Holly didn't need any further explanation on the matter), but the Dodgers were scheduled to play, so he was happy enough to watch the night game. Holly nodded, clicking her tongue and admonishing him for not wanting to celebrate his thirtieth birthday in more style, but he countered her by pointing to all the prints and portraits surrounding them. He was inundated with enough style every weekend, his lame parry making her chuckle nonetheless and drop the subject.

However, she had inwardly resolved to get away with at least a minor observance. Which, on the day in question, was exactly what she was doing. She was off of work until the sixth, which gave her some time to poke around the few specialty shops a few blocks over from her apartment. One of them was an antique store that she'd entered on a whim (open for the morning, bless them), wondering if perhaps what she was searching for could be found there. Bending to examine an old turntable, she heard a throat clear beside her, and she straightened.

"What are you looking for, Holl?"

Looking to her left, she grinned at the petite girl next to her. Sarah Collins had been a roommate of hers during the last year of college. One of the other girls on the docket to live with her and a few other friends had dropped suddenly, and they'd scrambled to find a replacement. The blonde, curls flying and keen gaze flashing, had agreed when she was approached, needing someplace affordable, given that she was an out-of-state student. Almost overnight, the pair had become thick as thieves, working well together despite their differences (Sarah had a harder, brassier edge to her, while Holly—while forthright—tended to be slightly more reserved). After Sarah had completed her courses in Minnesota, she'd moved back home to Virginia, but Holly had made sure to keep in touch often.

When she'd learned of her best friend moving to a city much closer to her on the map, Sarah had tried so hard to either come up to New York or to have Holly come down to Washington, D.C., where she currently lived. With Fourth of July being on a weekend, and more to the point, free, she seized the opportunity, intent on making it a fun girls' weekend for them both. Holly was delighted to have her there, even in the cramped space of her apartment (a studio; thank goodness Sarah was under average height, or she wouldn't have been able to crash on the small couch that she could fit into the rooms).

Having caught a train up and meeting her outside her building, the petite woman had just enough time to dump her bags before being brought along for the expedition her friend was undertaking. Wandering around the shop herself, she couldn't wait to hear the answer her friend supplied.

"Oh, um, well, one of my new friends, it's his birthday today," Holly told the smaller blonde, keeping her gaze focused on the wares of the shop. "Wanted to get him something and I didn't have time for it until now."

"On bestie time? Shameful," her friend admonished jokingly. After a moment, her green gaze narrowed, and she shot Holly a look. "Wait, _him_?"

The brunette met her gaze (somewhat) calmly.

"Yeah. I've told you about Steve, and Bucky," she explained quickly, ticking the names off on her fingers as she went. "Also met this girl called Natasha, who is at that level of pretty that it's infuriating at times, and—"

"Okay, stop trying to make me jealous," the shorter blonde cut in, waving a hand in the air and smirking. "Am I going to have to fight for my place?"

Holly giggled as Sarah pretended to mock-box the air as though it were her competition. "No, your title of bestie is safe. Although, that would be an interesting fight to watch."

The blonde's chin tipped up proudly. "Because I'd win it."

"Totally."

Slyness returned to the bright gaze, no abating in the least as they moved towards the back of the shop, her finger running over a shelf of dusty books.

"But still, Steve," she ventured, watching as her friend's dark eyes met hers and skittered away again. Flicking her gaze down, she noted with amusement how Holly's hands tucked around the hem of her shirt, almost as if of cue. Recognizing the signs for what they were, she leaned against another shelving unit, tucking back a loose curl before crossing her arms. "You've talked a lot about him. What's the story these days?"

Boy howdy, had Holly talked about him. Sarah felt she practically knew the fella herself just from her friend's descriptions. Not that she minded at all; really, she'd wanted Holly to form new relationships and not be so lonely as she had been in the past. But this guy...he'd made quite an impression in such a short time, and Sarah couldn't help but stick her nose in a little further. Just a few details would suffice. If Holly were in a divulging mood. All teasing aside, it been quite awhile since she'd been so drawn to someone, and Sarah thought it was sweet. That, however, she kept to herself, for the time being.

The brunette woman shrugged, keeping her face turned away. "No story, just a friend."

The smattering of pink in her ears did not help her case in the least, and her best friend couldn't help but snort.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

A sharp intake of breath came, and Sarah stiffened her spine. It was a calming mechanism, one that Holly employed to ground herself. It was also a warning sign to quit while she was ahead. It would be best to back off the insinuations for the moment, or else she would risk a snapped trap and little else for the remainder of the evening. Holly was not a violent person, but she did have a temper like anyone else, and if she felt backed into a corner, she could lash out if she felt she needed to defend herself. Glancing back up, the taller woman blinked a few times, a tight grin cropping up on her lips before she shrugged.

"Look, I'm just trying to find him something quick, and then I can introduce you to more of Brooklyn's marvelous sights," she promised, pawing through a few old-looking posters still in plastic sleeves. Sarah sighed inwardly, allowing the change of subject with a forced chuckle.

"Ooh, like the back alley behind that bodega we passed? That would be quite a sight," she crooned, folding her hands together and making her face contort in awe. Holly began to laugh then, and she counted it as a victory. Striding up to her friend's side, she began to look at the discarded posters and plates she'd been dismissing. "So, you planning on getting him something themed? You know, because of Fourth of July."

Holly rolled her eyes at that, the gesture loaded.

"Well, actually...hold on." Stopping herself short, she delved deeper into the piling, smiling broadly as she found two things that she knew Steve would like. Holding them up in the fluorescent light, she crowed, "These are perfect."

Examining her find, Sarah could nod and cup a hand in the air. Holly certainly knew the man better than she did (which still irked her; all the creeping she'd done on the Internet had turned up a private Facebook page that had very little content, and the bio given for the guy's art studio revealed little more). However, with her friend completely confident in her choice, she had to conclude that she was most likely correctly. Particularly when she spotted something in the next store over, a devious grin on her face and a thanks given for supplying her with her initial idea.

The afternoon spun into the evening, the pair of ladies eating take-out and catching up on each other's lives. The petite woman was continuing teaching dance in her neighborhood, and she had set up a YouTube account for the dance company, short videos attached to show off the repertoire of the students and the efforts of the teachers to garnish more for the future. The IT guy on hand for the studio had given her a few pointers, along with his number. ("He was sweet, even with the general dorkiness that surrounds him," she'd defended him when her friend eyed her knowingly.) Holly told her about the news from back home, about her niece scoring one of the lead roles in one of the community theater's children's plays, and her parents discussing a new extension to be added onto the house. The sky darkened little by little, and soon enough they both were gathering up wallets, preparing to hit up one of the displays scheduled for the day.

As well as that, the assembled present sat in Holly's lap as they went, her phone in hand as she negotiated with the driver to make a first stop several streets over.

"You could invite Steve along," Sarah suggested mildly as the driver for the Uber negotiated a turn. Turning to look at her fully, Holly could see the nonchalant slant of her shoulders as she shrugged, her green eyes glimmering even as she pretended to focus out the window. "I wouldn't mind."

"You just want to get a good look at him," the brunette woman retorted, seeing right through her suggestion. Snickering lightly, she tapped a finger on the box in her lap before shaking her head. "No, I'll just drop this off, and then we'll do as God intended for us to do on this day: drink a couple beers in honor of our country as people blow shit up."

She raised a palm, and her friend gave her a ringing high five in agreement.

"Fine, but I maintain that you're no fun," she supplied, settling in just as the car began to slow to a halt. Peering out the window, she took stock of the building they'd stopped in front of. Detailed sketches and paintings sat on easels in the window, the sills themselves painted a bright blue to match the lettering declaring the shop's title. The 'closed' sign was flipped on the front door, but the inset glass was soon filled by a large form. Asking her to hold the Uber for a few moments, Holly gave her a nervous grin before climbing out, taking the wrapped parcel with her. At the same time, the figure in the door came out fully, and Sarah's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline.

The Internet creeping had not done the guy justice, and she downright envied her friend's luck in that instant, no matter what she pretended inwardly. God, he was _fine_.

Masking the tight swallow in her throat with a wide smile, Holly trotted over to the front of the studio relieved that Steve had come out as she'd asked. Tucking his phone into his pocket, bemusement fluttered over his features, though a grin started to stretch his mouth.

"What's going on?" he asked her, curious as to why she was stopping by. A text from her had arrived a few minutes previously, imploring him to meet her on the curb outside his studio for a short while. He'd long since stopped working on his project for the day, but he had not expected her to show up on his door step. Not when he knew she had company with her for the next couple of days. Nodding towards the idling car on the curb, he murmured, "I thought you and your friend were heading out to the fireworks display."

"Yeah, we are. I just wanted to drop this off first," she told him, holding out the hastily-assembled present toward him. A homemade card was taped to the red paper surrounding the box, and she grinned at him tentatively as he scanned it.

"Thank you," he breathed, genuine happiness and pleasure lighting up his face. He hadn't expected anything from her, had not asked for anything at all. Her answering smile sent a pang through him, and he took a step closer to her. Tucking the box under his arm, he hooked his thumb back towards the studio. "You wanna come up for a few minutes?"

Not only did he rent the business space on the first floor, he also leased the second as his living quarters. He didn't have much on hand for drinks or anything, but he was sure he could find something for her if she came up. Holly's grin took on a wistful cast, and she shook her head.

"Can't. My friend Sarah is—"

"Come on, Martin!" a voice rang out as a window rolled down, feminine and strong. Steve looked over her to the car, catching wide green eyes set in a rounded face staring right back. "Clock's ticking!"

After a couple of seconds of silence following her friend's graceful display, the man and woman both chuckled a bit as the window rolled up again.

"—Waiting in the Uber," she finished, the last of her laughter huffing out of her. Shyly, she tucked back her loose waves, miming the motion for tapping out a message on her phone. "I'll, um, text you again later, okay? Maybe we can swing by when it's over."

"Sure," he replied, dipping his head before his mouth curled again. Holly nodded again, turning and striding back toward the waiting car, and he gave her a halfhearted wave. "Good night!"

Suddenly, she stopped halfway in her travels, turning nearly on a dime. About to ask if she'd forgotten something, Steve was almost bowled over when Holly trotted up to him, her arms winding around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. Surely that was what stole his breath as he hugged her back, but he didn't analyze it too closely. Instead, he accepted the warmth of her embrace, holding her fast against him.

"Happy birthday!" she crooned in his ear, a final squeeze dealt before she withdrew. Before he knew it, she was off and away, and he was staring down at the present she'd left with him, his bright expression never wavering. Striding back through the studio and locking up, he found himself humming under his breath as he climbed the stairs to the apartment, crossing the threshold with a veritable spring in his step. The baseball game blared on the television, but he seemed to take no notice of it as he sat down on the couch. On the other end sat Bucky, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. Having finished his excursion in Manhattan a few hours prior, he'd come over to present his best friend with a gift of his own—tickets to a game at Yankee Stadium in August. (They had been generously donated by one of the men he'd recently done a job for, and he knew Steve would relish the chance to cheer on any team that took on the Yankees.) Dinner was fetched up from the diner, as had been planned, but he hadn't counted on the slight interruption that followed.

Taking a sip from the beer in hand, Barnes put down his phone and nodded to the parcel. "What's that?"

"What's it look like?" Steve riposted, all humor and no venom in his voice. Shaking it slightly, he told him, "It's a gift from Holly."

"Aww," Bucky teased, his suspicions of who the giver had been being confirmed. Before Steve could do more than shoot him a look, he flapped a hand at the wrapped box. "Better open it, then."

Setting the box in his lap, he prepared to do just that. However, he fetched up the card that had been taped to the paper on the front. The blue construction paper had been given a cut from specialty scissors, and the looping handwriting was done with a light-colored pen. The content that had been spilled from that pen, though, was what mattered, and so he read the short message inscribed on the inside fold.

 _ **Thought you might enjoy these, old man. Happy birthday!**_

Smiling down at the card, he placed it to the side as he opened the box. The hastily-tapped wrapping paper fell away, followed by the lid, and it revealed two plastic sleeves. The contents of both were exposed when he turned them over individually, his grin broadening and his eyes lighting up. He confessed to Holly about his liking for 1940's advertisement posters; the stylization always spoke to him, for some reason, even when the contents could contain nothing more than a kid with a candy bar. The ones she'd found for him were in decent shape: the paper not bent or creased from what he could see, and the wear of age had only faded the colors slightly. One was a Coca-Cola advertisement, a young girl in a yellow dress holding two bottles of soda while roller skates were laced up by a Navy officer (it was Judy Garland, which he realized after a couple of seconds). The other made him blink, the advertisement for the silverware company minuscule in comparison to the picture upon it. There, a blond Army private had seemingly come home from battle, kissing his girl deeply and his hand threading into her dark curls. Something about the image brought heat into his cheeks, and he attempted to clear his throat twice. Ignoring the look his friend was throwing him at that moment, he set both the posters down, mentally weighing in where to hang them in the apartment when he noticed the tissue-wrapped lump still in the box. Tearing through the glittering navy-colored tissue, his eyes widened again.

"Oh, good Lord," he half-groaned, half-laughed when he realized what he was looking at. He tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling and shaking his head at Holly's playful audacity. Barnes spiked at eyebrow at it, and him, for several seconds, before verbally inquiring what else he was given.

Pulling the article from the tissue paper, he showed Bucky exactly what it was: a t-shirt. But it was not just a simple t-shirt, oh no; it was themed with a single, wide white star at the center of the chest, sitting on a field of royal blue. From the rib area down, the shirt was ringed with red and white stripes. As it was unfolded, an additional lump of felt dropped from within it, as well as an index card. As Bucky picked up the patriotic-colored felt, popping it out to reveal it as the Uncle Sam hat that it was, Steve fetched up the index card, turning it over and reading it.

 _ **Some extras for you, Captain America,**_ was the inscription, the added indignity of a winking smiley-face drawn beside it making him blink rapidly. Still, a bubble of laughter coursed out of him despite that. Plopping the hat on his own head, Bucky leaned, snatching the card from his grip and reading it for himself. A sly smile bloomed on his lips, the smirk making his eyes glitter mischievously as he looked back up at his best friend.

"I like that girl," he said, approval given along with a magnanimous gesture. "She's fun."

"Shut up," the blond man growled out the side of his mouth, though the tiny half-grin he sported remained on his lips for a long while afterward.

 **xXxXxXx**

Of course, the next time Steve saw Holly, he did give her an earful about the shirt. But, given that he had only done so after giving her a hug in thanks for the vintage advertisement posters, she could easily accept his chagrin. It simply gave her a bit more ammo to tease him with. Besides, he had ample opportunities to do the same to her. ("'Do or do not, there is no try,' Padawan Martin" he'd lobbed at her when she struggled to get one of his canvases off from its secure hangings to take with them, taking aim at her love for _Star Wars_. When she blew a piece of hair out of her eyes and flipped him off in retaliation, he let out a full belly laugh before coming to her aid.)

Near the end of July, Steve had brought her along to the next fair, the location being a sort of open-air market on the Lower East Side. Once they had found their assigned area, and the selected pieces were up and labeled properly, the pair had settled in for the browsers and buyers to stop by. The first few hours passed with little to remark upon, with Holly taking the chance to scope out the other nearby stands and checking out the competition, as it were. An artisan who made beaded jewelry was to the left, a caricaturist was to the right, and—she could not believe it herself—across the way was a fellow who specialized in the wolf paintings that she thought could only be found on cheesy t-shirts at truck stops. Thinking that could only bode well for Steve, she gladly monitored the cash box and marked off the sold pieces as the day progressed, pleased grins passing between her and her friend.

When the morning slid into the afternoon, that pleasure came to a grinding halt. Another sale had been made, and Holly completed the transaction for her friend, she found herself blowing out a mocking breath.

"Awesome. Now if we could only get that massive one to move, that would be even better."

Her thumb hooked at the canvas in question positioned along the back. It was a painting of the fields at Prospect Park at sunrise, the burst of light and color expanding out and enveloping the viewer in its beauty and poignancy. It also was a gigantic pain in the ass to get onto the train, and Holly had just about given up on getting it out there that morning.

Steve clicked his tongue, arms crossing over his chest. "And here I thought you liked that one."

Letting out a low groan, she rolled her eyes up at him. "I do like it. I'd like it even better if someone else took it and wrestled it onto the subway, instead."

The bigger fellow stepped closer to her, patting her back lightly.

"Well, if it doesn't get sold and we have to bring it back, I'll make sure you're amply rewarded for your efforts," he promised, his palm remaining in place as he grinned down at her. Her eyebrows rose, and she smirked.

"And what form is the reward gonna come in, Rogers?" she inquired, rubbing a forefinger and thumb together. The universal gesture told him exactly what she expected that reward to be, even if it was all teasing and joking. The hand on her back slid a little lower as he chuckled at her, a tingle running down her spine as his thumb started to rub small circles into her blouse. Barely suppressing a shiver, Holly was about to pursue the topic further when she was halted. A bright, feminine voice cut through the air, interrupting the banter between the two as Steve's name was shouted. The easygoing set of his face dropped as recognition set in. Turning to face the newcomer encroaching on the space, his hand fell away from her, and she scooted away from the table. Peering around him, she caught sight of a truly pretty young woman. Blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her brown eyes seemed to shine when the sun broke free from the clouds. Long legs brought her away from the stall two spots down, though Holly supposed the other young woman was no taller than herself. Still, she strode as though she were twice that height, the confidence in her form nearly overwhelming.

"Steve!" the blonde spouted his name again, extending a hand out when she got near enough. Familiarity filled her actions, and the brunette standing by let her eyebrows raise a fraction as she stepped around her friend. The blond kept her focus on the man, the barest flicker of a glance cast over Holly in those moments. "I thought it was you. How _are_ you?"

The smile he sported was forced, at best, and it was so obvious that it made Holly wince.

"Sharon, hi," he returned the greeting, though he did not step forward or shake her proffered hand. An awkward silence descended as her grin dimmed, her fingers falling limply at her side. Whatever it was that stood between them, it was definitely something Steve was not pleased with. Holly caught the tiny flashes of his gaze he was throwing at her, a spike of dread rising in her gut. Her presence was not in any way an aid to the situation, or so she supposed, her fingers curling into the hem of her blouse as she stared out toward the middle distance.

"I'm gonna go...check on the thing," she stammered, the air around her suddenly turning heavy and oppressive. Her dark gaze darted between the man and woman before her, and she flapped a hand out at the path carving away from the tent. Her feet began to edge her closer to it, pulling her away from the spring of strange animosity that she couldn't aptly label. "At the other end of the market, I heard there was this really cool thing. I'll be back in a few."

Pivoting fast, she missed the desperate look Steve shot her, missed the quizzical quirk of the blonde woman's brows as she beat a hasty retreat. Scooting fast, she did not pause in her flight until she was well and truly stopped on the other end of the market. Mentally, she was berating herself for the terrible and obvious ploy she had gone with. Flopping down on a bench nearby, she took out her phone, keeping track of the passing time on the clock. She'd give them awhile, to work out the thing that stood between them before she would go back. Something inside was insisting she go back right away, but she stuffed those feelings deep down, instead losing herself in an Internet deep-dive to occupy herself. Ending her dive with a video of an infomercial selling a pedaling system that could be used while seated on the ground, she checked the clock again, determining that enough time had been passed. For good measure, Holly stopped at one of the food stands, grabbing a double-batch of cheese curds to share (if Steve was in the mood. If not, she reckoned she would be just fine eating them on her own). Treading slowly, she eventually found her way back to the tent assigned to her friend, with the fellow in question now seated at the table, his chin propped up in one hand and the other's fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. When both fell away, he spotted her standing just at the edge, a slightly bitter twist coming to his mouth.

"Smooth exit," he piped up sarcastically. The brunette ducked her head, shoveling in a cheese curd before going to his side.

"I didn't go into improv comedy for a reason," she supplied. Giving the tent space a cursory glance, she lowered her voice. "Is she...?"

"Left about ten minutes ago," Steve told her, catching on quickly. The bitterness drained, replaced by a muted form of apology. "You didn't have to go."

Judging by the drawn cast of his expression, perhaps it would have been better if she hadn't gone. She could have been a buffer for what had happened in her absence. Inwardly, though, she shot that idea down, brushing it away entirely.

"You probably didn't want me around for that...whatever it was," she conjectured aloud, a finger circling in the air at the space that had been occupied by the blonde girl. Steve snorted wryly, flicking open the cash box and idly thumbing through the bills there.

"Oh, you mean the awkward encounter from hell? Maybe not." He let out a slow sigh, chastising himself in his next breath. "That was a little harsh."

Holly let the statement hang for a few moments, another bit of her treat disappearing into her mouth.

"If you don't mind my asking, who was she?" she prodded him gently, wanting to banish at least a margin of her confusion. Shoulders shifted uncomfortably as Steve shuffled in his seat, his tongue detaching from the roof of his mouth after a second or two.

"She was my ex's cousin. Thought we could take a joyous walk down memory lane, I guess," he exhorted, leaning back in the chair. Tapping his thumb on the edge of the table, he went on, "She came, she talked, and she left. It's over."

Digesting that, along with another bite of her food, the brunette beside him tipped her chin up.

"Okay."

Light eyes trailed up bit by bit, coursing up her body to her face. Something like suspicion bloomed in his irises as he looked at her, and his head cocked to the left.

"You're not gonna ask."

Holly shook her head, resting her backside against the table then. "Nope. Not unless it's okay with you."

The curiosity was strong within her, but she knew better than to push and prod at boundaries if the person involved was not willing to divulge. And she got the sense that Steve definitely would not do so at that time. So, she resolved to keep her lip buttoned. He narrowed his gaze at her then; he knew how inquisitive she could be by that point, and couldn't resist pushing back a little.

"You trying to pull a form of reverse psychology on me?" he wondered, sitting up straighter in his seat.

"No, I'm not," she denied, markedly meeting his gaze and holding it. For a minute or two, they maintained their postures, neither yielding. Gently, she brought up the carton of food she'd brought back with her, holding it out to him and breaking the minor tension. "Cheese curd?"

The box in hand was shaken for effect, and the temptation to do so again when Steve merely stared was strong. Soon enough, though, he grabbed up a couple of the deep-fried treats for himself, the conversation left behind in favor of tidying up the small space that had been accorded for them. A few more people came to admire the landscapes and portraits on display, some actually completing a purchase or two, and their curiosity and questions were enough to fill in the quiet that had descended. The storm bubbling Steve's eyes had not abated by the time the coordinator had come over, informing them it was time to start packing up, and Holly physically bit down on her tongue. She really wanted to know and to understand what had happened between him and the pretty blonde who had shown up earlier. Context clues told her that it wasn't pleasant, at least not on his side, but she could also sense that it could be potentially dangerous territory.

The heaviness remained into the evening, well past the eventual tear-down and hauling out of the few pieces that did not sell that day (the giant one had been purchased and taken, thankfully), with the pair mired in quiet and their separate thoughts until they arrived back at the studio. Shuffling into the back storage room, Holly exhaled softly through her nose as she set down the pack she'd carried. About to grab up her bag and head on home, she was stopped by Steve leaning in the doorway, a hand raking through his blond tresses and the hard lines in his face barely relaxing.

"Well, I need a drink," he announced almost grimly, the backpack with the cash box and such stored in it shunted onto one of the bare shelves when he entered. Glancing over at her, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Want to join me?"

Blinking, she stiffened her spine, nodding once. "Sure."

Holly followed him through the back door, the studio locked down and the security system armed before he led her to the back staircase. The wide space of his apartment on the second floor was a mixture of cozy and sleek, a brown leather couch taking up most of the living room before a decently-sized digital television. Pieces of his own artwork was on the walls, joined by prints and photographs of the Brooklyn Bridge and the city skyline. A slight frisson of jealousy spiked through her; his place was much bigger than hers, with ample storage to boot. Rather than stay in the kitchen, he came back through the swinging door, a six-pack in hand as he trudged toward the window. Sliding it up, he motioned for her to follow, saying that the best spot was up one more flight. Dropping her bag, she climbed out after him, her heart dropping bit by bit as she climbed up the fire escape. The metal creaked, but it held as she slung a leg over the lip of the roof, her other getting caught and causing her to slip. The thought of bracing for the impact of falling on her face did not have a chance to be completed, as Steve had deftly put the pack down and caught her. The heat of his palms on her waist bled through the thin cotton of her blouse, and Holly could feel the burn surfacing in her cheeks as he made sure she was steady and unharmed. Once properly on her feet, he gave her arm a squeeze, the brush of his fingers remaining even as he stepped back and scooped up the beer again. On the other side of the roof, two lawn chairs were situated, overlooking the block. Since it was a Saturday night, there were plenty of people still milling about on the streets, the perch above perfect for such a thing. As they got themselves situated, Steve confessed that the privacy of it all made it a treasured spot, an escape which allowed him to see what was happening but let him find some peace. Caps were popped, and after saluting one another, the pair drank the brew he'd procured. Smatterings of the passersby and the horns of cars broke the silence, engulfing them for a long while. Holly, tucking back some of her hair behind her ear, started to sink back into her lawn chair, the tension of the afternoon melting little by little.

Well, as much as it could in between the fast glances being darted to her every so often.

"Still not going to ask?" Steve inquired after several minutes had passed. Blue eyes raked over her suspiciously, an eyebrow arching slightly. Her own rose in response, and she hummed low in her throat.

"Still acting like you don't want to talk about it?" she retorted easily. Tipping her bottle towards him, she went on, "I will note that you're the one bringing it up."

The eyebrow remained raised, though a corner of his mouth curled a bit. "Figured you were curious."

"Yeah, I am," she replied honestly, the bluntness making him blink in surprise. She wasn't going to deny the truth when he kept pushing for it; she wasn't interested in acting coy. Flapping a hand at him, she postulated, "It's up to you what you want to tell me. Seeing her bothered you, I can tell that much, but I'm not gonna pry."

One blink, then two, and Steve looked down again, rolling his beer bottle between his hands.

"She wanted to talk about Peggy."

Holly inclined her head. "Your ex, right?"

Steve nodded, a form of wistfulness twisting his features. "Sharon wanted to give me an update on Peg's life. I'm not sure if she did it to really let me know or to rub it in my face. That girl's a hard read. Either way, Peggy's apparently doing well."

Absorbing that, absorbing the tenor in which he said it, Holly merely sipped her beer, her dark eyes scanning him carefully. Little by little, as the night grew around them and the haze of the streetlamps glowed, he spoke about it. About meeting Peggy during college; she'd taken a chance, applying to an American college, determined to go somewhere her side of the family hadn't gone (her parents and brother were scary-smart, like her, and had been to the likes of Cambridge and Oxford). Once accepted, she made the journey, staying with her uncle's family (and therefore Sharon). The criminal justice major from across the pond had sought him out, given how they were in the same elective history course and seemed somewhat approachable in comparison to the others—he hadn't reached the end of his growth spurt, still somewhere in between. They'd hit it off from the beginning; she had spark, gumption, working night and day to secure herself in her future field. And she had heart, heart enough to see beyond the facade set up by the artistic army grunt to what dwelt within. He was in deep, from the first moment, and he'd thought she felt the same way. For two years, they were nearly inseparable, and he had thought, even with all his training days and her internships with prestigious firms in the city, it could remain that way. The admiration in his voice, distant though it was, was discernible, and Holly could only listen as Steve sighed.

Then came his deployment, just five months after graduation. Then came the tearful good-byes and broken promises, the months away that cut them deep with loneliness and heartache. The work he had to do, it deeply affected him, the things he'd seen and experienced...it had worn him down. Two tours, back to back, of grueling and heartbreaking work, four years of his life spent that way. It had worn him down to the point that it had left him listless inside for a long while, something Peggy could tell whenever he had the chance to email or even call home. She'd been patient with him for a very long time, understanding in her own way (after all, she had family members of her own serving out there as well as him). When he'd finally come home, honorably discharged, he attempted to pick things up where they'd left off, to pick up his own broken pieces and move forward.

But she'd grown, grown apart from him, and it was starkly obvious as the months went on, as they moved in and resumed life together. She'd pursued a master's degree, veritably galloping through the classes and using it to her advantage quickly. After building her reputation in the city between the firm she'd scored a place with and the police, and completing specific courses in her downtime, she'd forwarded her resume to Interpol and was accepted. Even at her relatively young age, they wanted her in the higher offices, and wanted her quickly. And while he'd known that she was making great strides and was incredibly proud of her for that, he hadn't known she would reach that far. Opening his studio and pushing to create so he could generate revenue, he was actively keeping himself busy, and so her pushes for her own future were not known until after her acceptance. The fight that had followed was not something he was proud of; he was so sure that she was it, the one, that he couldn't fathom her branching out away from him, and his words were harsh. She'd lashed back, stinging him hard with not caring or noticing enough to want to branch out with her. Her career was important to her, too important to give up (something which he had never asked her to do, he did note), and more to the point, she'd never meant to stay as long as she had. It was a chance for her to go somewhere closer to home.

Home wasn't with him, and hadn't been for a long time.

That had knocked the wind right out of him, the realization completely flooring him. After that, he could only remember feeling numb, and telling her that if that was the case, then she should do what she needed to do so she could feel at home. The next morning, two bags were packed and by the door, her standing in the frame with tears in her eyes. Apologies passed between them, the hurtful things they'd lobbed at one another forgiven as their final hour together ran down. A long hug and the ring of the bell at the front door of the studio echoed up, and Peggy was gone, off to stay with her parents for a couple of weeks before making the move to Lyon.

Since then, he'd heard very rarely of how she was, given how he wasn't exactly well-versed in social media and had utilized his lack of adeptness to create distance. He'd no doubt that her family had at least heard some of what had happened; Sharon had tried to facilitate a reconciliation a month or two afterward, but it had failed. After that, it had been radio silence, and his own pain digging deeper at him.

"God, that sucks, Steve," Holly said when he took a moment to breathe. When he'd started talking, when he finally let the words he'd been holding in all afternoon were given permission to flow, she hadn't quite expected all of that. She was not ignorant of the fact that Steve had lived with pain and sorrow; his army experiences were a testament to that, let alone what she'd learned about his own family (his dad lost in the Gulf War, his mom passing from cancer when he was nineteen). Heartache seemed to be second nature to him most days, the little break within his eyes sometimes barely stifled. The tale he'd told was just another piece of that puzzle, the sharpness of it being blunted over time. Still, even with all that, he somehow managed to look at the world around him, see it as something worthwhile, beautiful even, if his artwork was anything to go by.

That sort of fortitude was rare, and she knew it. Being left by his ex-girlfriend did not define him, but it did highlight and underscore the level that he had gotten to, and the strength it took just to keep getting out of bed in the morning. To actually smile and be happy. Maybe Holly didn't understand going through pain and sorrow left, right, and center, but she could appreciate it. She could appreciate the toll it really took when it was brought to the fore of the mind.

For his part, Steve took a long sip of his beer, which had grown warmer from the night air and from being gripped so hard in his hand. Shifting his fingers around the bottle, he passed it from palm to palm when he finished, a rueful smirk tugging at his lips.

"It is what it is. I can understand why Peggy wanted to break things off, and it was the best for both of us, in the end. Got me to really think about everything happening around me, and what I wasn't doing."

That was the truth. Once she'd gone, once he had nobody but himself to comfort him in the cold, lonely hours of the night, he could only reflect. And upon reflection, he found himself wanting.

Holly looked down, the fingers of her free hand fiddling with the hem of her blouse. "It still sucks, all around."

He let out a long sigh, canting his head in agreement. "...Yeah, it did. But that was almost three years ago. I'm over it."

A snort shot out of his companion, and he caught her eyeing him up in his peripheral vision.

"You look like it."

A shoulder lifted again, his expression remaining contemplative.

"I dunno. I had a lot to take care of, in regards to myself, that I was putting off. I wasn't the best…I just wasn't good. I was just doing what I thought needed to be done instead, starting the studio, getting a plan together. It's a different world out there, and it changes you. Changed me." A lot of what he'd said was over-simplifying, in his mind, but the harsh details of the event, of the downward spiral that happened after he'd returned from war, had been dulled with age. Some breakthrough pain could emerge, but at that point, he could start to look at it all objectively. He could look at himself and Peggy objectively. His therapist would be proud, he mused inwardly; so would the support group at the VA he attended every so often with Sam and Bucky, too. Coughing once, he murmured, "She saw it first, but she still saw me there, underneath it all, so she stayed. I don't blame her for needing to take care of herself after awhile. It was the kick in the pants that I needed to do the same."

Several beats of quiet followed that, and Holly could only shake her head sheepishly before focusing on her feet again.

"Can't imagine this is how you wanted your drink to go. Particularly with a Midwestern hick acting as your audience."

Steve let out a breathy chuckle at that, very little humor in it.

"Yeah. Then again, you're the one that stuck around to listen to a crusty, busted-up vet. What does that say about you?" he remarked, dryness in his voice and gaze. His eyes trailed over her, over the shift of her brown waves in the light breeze that was picking up, along the curve of her jaw and the line of her shoulders. Clearing his throat, he rejoined, "You're not a hick, just special."

A vein of hilarity lit up her irises as she looked up at him, and she jabbed a finger in his direction. "See, if it didn't have that little edge you think people don't pick up on and that shit-eating grin to go with it, I would've taken the compliment, Rogers."

A bubble of laughter course through Steve at that, and he refused to admit that was the case at all. Instead, he let his chuckling peter off slowly, hers joining in for a few seconds before the sounds of the city overwhelmed them. Distant sirens rang, and the glow of the lamplight cut across their faces, dimmed as it was by the time it reached them on the roof. Exhaling slowly, he rubbed the back of his neck, taking it all in as he shuffled in his seat.

"I think what's caught me the most is that I don't feel as…intensely about it as I used to. I lost…I lost, and it all came to a head," he tried to explain, dredging up what was truly bothering him underneath all of what he'd said. "But seeing Sharon, getting the reminder, it's, it's not like it was. And I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

Holly furrowed her brow at that, letting the silence that followed the statement ring around them for a few minutes.

"It doesn't make you a bad person if you don't feel worse than you do," she responded eventually, working out her own understanding of his plight. Perhaps it wasn't as complex or descriptive as she could have made it; her verbosity, in her opinion, stayed primarily on the pages of the stories she wrote on her downtime. Knowing he was now listening intently, she kept her focus on her feet, toes curling against the rubbery material of her sandals. "It's been awhile, as you said, and, you're right, things have changed. It's okay; I think that's a sign of healing, which is good, overall." Inhaling deeply, she risked a glance up, and just as she'd predicted, those ice blue eyes were on her, Steve's body rigid in his chair as she spoke. A corner of her mouth curled up, gentling her tone even further. "It doesn't lessen the memories, or who you are as a person. Peggy knows this, too; she wouldn't want you to feel like you have to always carry the weight." A hand cupped the air before falling onto the arm of the chair again, and she snickered humorlessly. "Most likely, I mean. I don't know her personally."

He chuckled then.

"No, you're...you're not far off the mark." A final pull from his bottle, and his beer was empty. So, too, was his mind, the weight that had been present throughout the day finally laid down. (Or, if not laid down, whittled into something manageable.) Steve looked at Holly as he put the bottle on the rooftop, gratefulness lighting his eyes as her dark gaze connected with his. "Thanks."

She smiled then, a tremor of confusion running over her face. "For what?"

"For...this." A palm came up, gesturing to the air and all that he'd eliminated from his mind that was now hovering between them. "For letting me unload for awhile." For letting him do so without judgment or censor, for being willing to listen and to tell him what she thought, genuinely, in return. She certainly deserved that much, if not something more. "The surprise visit just...caught me off-guard. And in advance for Bucky." He smirked; humor was a fantastic coping mechanism, and he was not about to lay it down just yet. "He's been with me through the good, bad, and ugly of this whole situation; you did him a favor by not letting me go to him."

"It was your suggestion to drink on the roof, I just went with it," she pointed out in jest, taking an exaggerated pull of her beer. Wincing a bit at the warmth of it, she softened her joke with gravity. "You're welcome."

Another grin was directed at her, and she swiftly finished her beer, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Mulling over all that he'd said, another portion of his speech stuck out in her mind, and she couldn't help but wonder aloud about it—despite wanting to kick herself later for it.

"Three years, huh?" she asked him, a weird dryness coming to her throat as she prepared to press the issue. He gave her a sidelong glance, grabbing up another bottle from the pack and popping the cap off.

"Yep."

Swallowing against the strange jaggedness, she grabbed up a second bottle for herself, getting it open after a few tries.

"A-and there hasn't been anybody since then? Nobody special?" she asked then, a flush decorating her cheeks as she stumbled over her words. That time, he fully turned to face her, squinting at her curiously as she finally got the cap off and took a long pull from the bottle. She lifted a shoulder when she'd finished, flicking a few fingers in the air as she scrabbled for an explanation. "I'm nosy, sue me."

"I just might. At first, it was difficult to schedule between the therapy sessions and keeping the studio in the black," he commented, his jesting tone surfacing in that instance. He ducked his head again, glancing away when a measure of heat rose through him as he thought back on the past few years. "A couple dates here and there, nothing outstanding."

Slowly, his gaze slid back over to her, measuring her reaction to his words without him fully realizing why he was doing so. Thoughtfulness spread over her face, but the pink in her cheeks hadn't dissipated. Overall, it looked quite charming on her, and before he could analyze his thoughts on that, he found himself drinking deeply from his newly opened bottle, a low grunt let loose when he'd finished swallowing.

"Well, I'm done dumping on you," he proclaimed then, forcibly pushing himself out of the quagmire he'd brought them both into. When she looked over at him, he quirked his lips, reaching out and tapping her shoulder playfully. "Got any stories about your exes that you want to share? Make me feel less like an idiot?"

"You're not an idiot," she countered, impishly batting his hand away. Letting out a long breath, she tipped her head back as she slid down in her chair, staring up at the looming blackness above. "I may have a couple of doozies, though."

Snickering, Steve mimicked her posture, a palm gesturing grandly towards her. "Floor's yours."

A few tales tumbled from Holly's lips, her own ex-boyfriend having taken her on a few adventures during the relationship. The guy seemed to be a sort of daredevil, pushing the limits with whatever off-terrain vehicle he could get his hands on. That had translated to an almost total disregard to safety in pursuit of his good time. Holly had nothing against thrill-seeking, per se, but when the guy had put her in danger a few times (launching over massive jumps on his snowmobile was one that stood out in Steve's mind; he himself owned a motorcycle, and he couldn't fathom intentionally popping wheelies on it to the detriment of his passenger), she realized how truly reckless he was. The emotional charge behind that break-up was nowhere near the caliber of his own, but it was still fairly high when it did end officially. Idle chatter wormed its way in after that, with a discussion of how the fair had been overall, and what the plan would be for the following week. The normalcy and warmth of his companion kept him anchored, kept the darkness of the past at bay the longer they spoke, and he couldn't help but revel in it, albeit silently. Soon enough, though, Holly was rising from her chair, marking the lateness of the hour and how she had to get home. Rising, he walked her down, going first down the fire escape and bracing her when her turn came. When they exited through his apartment and made it down to the street, he escorted her out in front of the studio, sticking by her side as they waited for a cab to pass by. After a few moments, he felt a mild tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he watched as Holly spread her arms, gesturing for him to step into her embrace. Taking the comfort she offered, he soaked in the feel and the heat of her body against his, the kindness and caring in her hug resonating deep within him.

"For the record, I don't think you're crusty or busted-up," she whispered after a few seconds, her breath ghosting over his ear. A stray shiver shot down his spine, his arms tightening around her at the sincerity in her voice. "Just a little rough around the edges."

His mouth curved at that, and when she pulled back, he could see it reflected on her face. A cab came speeding up to the curb, the driver calling out the window and asking if one of them needed a ride. With her chariot awaiting her, there was nothing left to do but part ways for the night. Promising to text him the next day, she climbed into the backseat, waving a little through the window at him when the door shut. Steve raised his in farewell just before the cab rocketed away from the curb, lowering slowly before being tucked into his pocket.

"G'night, Holl," he murmured to himself, tipping his head back briefly and staring up at the sky for several seconds more. Canting his head, he cast a fond look in the direction she'd gone before tripping back home himself.

 **xXxXxXx**

One Monday in mid-August found Holly trudging in the early hours, a yawn shooting out of her as she walked to her destination. Archer's Café was a decent coffee shop, a good place to go for those sick of the chains and the commercialism of the big-name cafés (though the owner had said he wouldn't mind the pay-out that the big chains had, something she'd snickered and brushed off afterward). Unlocking the grate and the front door with the keys she'd been commissioned several months back, she entered the space. It was decently sized, the first floor dedicated to the bar and wide, open seating area. The eclectic furniture stood out among the earth tones of the walls and floors, the medium woods of the bar and boards bringing a sense of home to mind as she made her way to the counter. Once her backpack had been stored under the register and she'd swapped her shirt for the designated polo, she set about getting the floor to rights. The tables in front of the windows that flanked the door needed a good wipe-down, and the group of comfy chairs to the left had been pushed askew. As she was doing so, the door clicked open, another yawning face to greet as he wandered in. It was a new hire, a guy only a few years younger than her. Pushing the flop of his fauxhawk out of his eyes and adjusting his square-rimmed glasses, he wandered over to her and shook her hand in greeting. His name slipped her mind for the moment, but she figured she could get by with the training, to start with. Putting him to work with sweeping, she started pulling out the necessary accouterments for the morning. Her shift would last until 2 PM, and already she could feel her legs starting to ache. She'd spent Saturday working another art fair with Steve, during which she was on her feet for a good portion of the time. She'd thought she would've gotten used to it by then, but clearly that was not the case. At least his tent had merited a good amount of interest; sales for his work seemed to have spiked early on, and he had nearly run out when they had to pack up for the night.

And there were no surprise visits from significant people that time. Even with the browsing attendees, there were blocks of time where it was just him and her, teasing and talking as ever. Except, well...it had changed a bit, since that night on the roof. That wasn't to say it was a bad thing, though; she had liked Steve before that, and now...now, with more of the pieces of himself being brought to life, she reckoned that she was...

A clunk and a muted curse broke through her musings, drawing her back into reality. The new guy had tripped over the weirdly-angled coffee table by the couch, something she herself had done on her first day (and still did, on occasion). Grumbling, she commiserated with the kid, telling him that it was one of the pieces that the owner would not part with, no matter how many shins it damaged. It was character-building, or that was his excuse, at least.

With the clean-up performed, she and the younger guy had managed to get on their commissioned aprons, setting up the pastries and preparing the equipment in time for the morning rush to come through. Luckily, Mister Fauxhawk had experience as a barista before, so he had no trouble being on register and brew bar. Holly was left with manning the espresso bar, and any orders that needed to be cooked in their miniature kitchen area. Mostly, the morning commuters and such preferred picking from the baked goods they got from the bakery three blocks over, and she didn't have to worry about it overmuch. Those who stayed were relatively easy to handle that morning, taking their drinks and working off the Monday haze while utilizing the free WiFi. A rare few actually picked off the communal bookshelves near the back, perusing a chapter or two before downing the dregs of their mochas or lattes and heading out the door. Silently, Holly cheered them on; she couldn't be the only one reading the books in her downtime, particularly when there were some good titles on the shelves.

The major rush had come and gone by nine o'clock, and a few stragglers were left in various places around the shop. Taking the opportunity to tidy up a bit and collect the stray cups and mugs that were not returned, she had her back to the door when the little bell above it tinkled. Heavy footsteps stomped across the boards, right up to the register, and when she returned from placing the dishes in the sink for washing, she wasn't surprised to see who it was. A fellow of average height stood before the new guy, his layered tee sporting the band logo for AC/DC that day. He passed a hand through his close-cropped dark hair, the touch of gray at his temples and in his goatee seeming to stand out that morning. His expressive dark eyes darted over the guy at the till, before ricocheting to her, and the smirk he sported became genuine.

"Kiddo," he greeted her, one hand raising in a wave (wrist guard on again, and the other was too occupied with holding his ever-present leather case).

"Tony," she said, the name riding on her exhale as she stepped forward. The man was a veritable legend in the neighborhood, given how he had been head of the technical operations for Shield Industries. The energy and public works company seemed to have a finger in all the pies of New York City, and Tony was the one to push them toward the clean options. Rumor had it that he'd worked on contract for the military once, only to switch midway through his career, but that was all neighborhood speculation. To her, he was just one of the regulars, jonesing for his next cup of Joe. And he actually appreciated her treating him as such. Furrowing her brow, she teased, "Need the regular strength stuff or your fix?"

"The junkie needs espresso, stat," a lighter, more mellow voice came, the owner of it stepping up to the left of the man in front of the till. He adjusted the glasses that were perched upon his nose, brushing his hands down the yellow button-up and sporting an unassuming smile in greeting. "Decaf for me."

"You got it, Dr. Banner," Holly stated, hooking a thumbs-up at him and gesturing for the new kid to ring up the orders. The mild-mannered man tipped a nod in thanks; one would hardly take him as the foremost clean energy specialist in the city (all of which she'd learned after serving him several times; the man wasn't keen on bragging about himself). With it being slower, she could handle making both drinks. Measuring out the scoops and prepping the machines, she caught Stark eyeing up the newbie, his frantic gaze sliding over to her in reassurance. Deftly she tipped her head; she had his typical, super-charged Americano covered, as she had the last few months she'd been working there.

"Just a couple of thimbles and I'll be good to go," he muttered aloud, slipping the kid his card and paying for both drinks before Banner could object. Glancing at his work partner, he seemed almost giddy, bouncing on the balls of his feet as she doubled the shot amount of espresso for his drink. "So close to hitting the break, can't give up now."

The good doctor crossed his arms, humming low in his throat. "Unless your heart gives out first."

"Then just give me an adrenal jump-start," the tech genius retorted flippantly, tapping his hand against his chest to mimic said jump-start. "Or the paddles, whichever is near at hand."

Banner gave an exasperated groan, rolling his eyes playfully.

"That's assuming I'd bring you back. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he assured his friend, tapping the free bit of counter space with his thumb. Before much longer, she produced both drinks, and the doctor shot her a grateful look. "Thanks, Holly."

Well-versed in their banter by that point, she handed over the drinks and grinned. "You're welcome."

Stark dipped his chin, practically falling on the oversized mug that seemed to be on reserve for him when he came in, several dollars tucked into the tip jar. Taking a healthy sip, he barely flinched as the espresso mixed with coffee coursed down his throat. Holly was sure that, if he wasn't certain that he'd destroy his throat, he would've downed it like a shot. Pivoting, he started to follow Banner as he walked away.

"Whenever you got a moment, toss me a grilled cheese, too!" he called over his shoulder, picking out his favorite specialty dish despite the fact that it was barely past 9:05. Waving his credit card again, he continued, "On the tab."

The new guy (what _was_ his name? It would drive her crazy until she remembered) looked askance at her, and she just inclined her head, setting about the task. The next shift, he would learn about the few special meals they would whip up for customers, but she had that one covered. As the pair of mad scientists took up their usual spot, the small table set up by the left window pane, she shook her head, grinning affectionately at thin air. For all the seeming insanity that rolled off Tony in waves, he really was brilliant; she'd peeked at some of his blueprints while serving him, once or twice. They were designs for machines and projects that she had no clue about, other than the fact that they were based off handmade models that actually worked. At least he had Doctor Banner as a balance, she mused as she began making the grilled cheese he'd requested. The brain behind his engineered brawn, Tony liked to call him, and the other man would roll his eyes and rake a hand back through his messy curls, brushing it off in favor of getting to work.

The fact that they were habitually the tidiest and nicest regular customers (not to mention being consistent tippers) certainly didn't hurt, either.

A shuffle came from the curtained stock area, making the new kid working the till jump slightly. Used to it by then, Holly continued assembling the different cheeses on the bread and mentally counted down. By the time she got to two, the curtain was swept to the side, the tall and broad proprietor narrowly avoiding getting smashed by the stock. Blowing out a sharp breath, he shook his head, light eyes darting over the new kid for a minute before scanning the café. The sandy-haired man snorted then, sidling up to Holly and dipping his chin.

"So the psychotic is in today, huh?" he noted quietly, the hint of humor nearly always present in his voice picking up. He nodded over to where Tony was sitting, the brunet fellow suddenly tapping his friend with the end of a pencil and prodding him until he looked at something he'd sketched in his notebook. As Banner glanced over it, canting his head in denial and sipping his coffee, she snickered to herself.

"As per usual, Clint," she told him, smirking back. Clint was the owner, having purchased the space from a buddy of his twelve years ago in a bid to get a fresh start on life. By her second shift of working there, she'd dropped her politeness at his insistence, as he felt 'Mister Barton' was a little much for the owner of a coffee shop. It made things simpler in the long run, and an easy form of camaraderie had sprung up between them. A fellow expat of the Midwest, Clint would offer up jokes and barbs that she could get and add to (he could fire off something about the Vikings, and she'd come back with the fact that Iowa wasn't regarded enough by the league to even have a team, period; things of that nature).

"Jittery or excited this time?" he asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the patron in question.

Holly tipped her head from side to side as she cooked, deliberating. "Mixture of both, it seems."

"Hmm. Must be on the verge of discovery," Clint remarked sagely. Stark and Banner had been regulars of the café for years—he actually did claim them as friends, for better or for worse, with Bruce acting as godson to his newborn boy—and therefore knew them very well. He could tell when Tony was on a breakaway: wild eyes, flashing snark and fast movements illustrating it all. Canting his head, he also equivocated, "Or collapse. Either way, make sure he doesn't deplete our stock in one hour."

The young woman snorted at that. "Alright. Like he could, anyway."

"Gets pretty damn close sometimes," he grumbled mildly, casting a dubious look at the tech genius again. That time, Tony caught his glance, and returned it with a knowing smirk of his own. His espresso cup was raised, and he shook it a little, indicating that he was tapped out. If Clint was exaggerating, it wasn't by much, in his estimation. Sighing, he tapped the new kid's shoulder, indicating that he could go and start washing up the dirty dishes. The next shift person, Katie, would be in by eleven, and due to her work over the previous months, he knew Holly could manage on her own for a bit since it had quieted down. Checking over the register carefully, Barton continued, "Stark's your charge today; I gotta get the books done, or Laura's gonna have a fit."

Holly chuckled lightly. Her boss had done well with the business, but she reckoned a lot of it had to do with his wife. Nice and efficient as he was, he hated the paperwork aspect. Laura, all smiles and long, dark hair when she'd met her, housed a determination that rivaled anyone else that she knew. (Well, almost anyone.) No doubt some form of motivation gifted by her was driving Clint on, and Holly merely shrugged a shoulder, plating the fully-cooked sandwich to the recipe's specs and adding a dash of seasoned kettle chips around it.

"Fair enough," she said, accepting her duty and stepping out to serve the ordered sandwich. With another grin, Clint saluted her, two fingers tapped to his temple before disappearing down the back hallway to the office. Ringing up the charge for the food and filling up another cup for the tech genius, Holly soon found that the numbers inside the store had dwindled further. With the lull in foot traffic and orders, she carefully pulled her battered notebook out from the backpack stored there. In it were pages and pages of short stories, small project she'd worked at on and off for years. In the past, she'd committed a few to word documents and sent them off to a couple of online magazines, but nothing had been published yet. Still, she was not about to give up writing; it was a transport for her mind, a way for her to inhabit new worlds and communicate what she could not express succinctly. A pen was fetched from the jar nearby, and she picked up where she'd left off. Minutes were lost as she was absorbed in her writing, the pen flowing fluidly over the paper as she scribbled. Stalling on one character preparing to make a choice between staying in her place or moving onto a new world and life (somewhat autobiographical, but she wasn't about to announce that to the world), the bell above the door rang again, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Work, she was at work, and she could not afford to daydream at the moment.

"Hello, welcome to...oh, God," she groaned, her greeting lost as she fully realized who was on the other side of the till. The mop of blond hair was barely combed into place, the bright blue eyes lighting up as she looked upon him. Steve stood there, looking fresh from the shower and ready for the day. Blinking, her free hand tugged idly on the hem of the stitched polo she had to wear for work and breathed slowly out her nose. She had told him where she would be that morning, since he texted her and asked the night before, but she hadn't thought that anything would come of it.

"Steve, actually," he corrected jokingly, shooting her his little half-grin. Ignoring the flip-flop in her stomach, she rolled her eyes as he adjusted the zip of his dark hoodie to sit even higher than it had before.

"So funny, you should make that part of your stand-up act," she deadpanned, shaking her head and smoothing down the apron she wore—the bright purple was nearly migraine-inducing, but it was Clint's choice and one that she could not buck. Discreetly tucking her notebook into her bag, back on the low shelf of the counter, she asked, "What brings you by?"

Inclining his head toward the multicolored scrawls on the backboard behind her, he replied, "Well, coffee, for one thing."

"Uh-huh," she intoned, letting the corners of her lips curl up then. Given the distance between the café and his art studio, she highly suspected him having a different motive for coming to her place of work; there was a Starbucks just down the street from him, after all. And the studio was due to open in another hour, come to think of it. Without waiting for him to state what kind he wanted, she began to move automatically. Dark roast was selected, and soon enough she was pouring out a cup for him; she'd had to do caffeine runs during their mornings at the art fairs more often than not, and had his preferences down to a science at that time. Adding an overly cheery lilt to her voice, she announced, "Straight black, for the heathen artiste."

"Thank you, ma'am," he answered with faux politeness, grin stretching as he accepted the cup (she'd teased him about his preferences before, and he'd lobbed remarks about the way she doctored hers to become more confection than caffeine drink with alacrity). His credit card passed hands, the purchase made, and when she passed it back, he tucked it between two fingers before grabbing at her wrist. Stalled in moving away from the till, she waited as he murmured, "Hold on, I have something for you."

Her eyebrows inclined. "What?"

Furtively, he glanced around the café, wondering aloud if she had a break coming up soon. It wouldn't take long, he promised. Her free hand came up, a single finger extended and imploring him to wait another minute. Striding to the back, she brought the kid out from washing dishes so that the register was covered before she stepped out from behind the counter. Unbeknownst to her, the eyes of the doctor and the tech genius were tracking the pair across the room, eyebrows arching and lips twisting in good humor as she followed Steve to the couch by the bookshelves. Dropping onto the cushion beside him, she waited until he' d gotten in a couple sips of his coffee before prompting him to tell her what was up. He swallowed, his gaze dropping to his knees briefly as uncertainty laced his features.

"Well, you know this past weekend was the last art fair I was booked for, so..." he began, setting his mug down on the oblong coffee table. Reaching into one of the pockets of his hoodie, he fiddled with whatever was in there for a few seconds before withdrawing it. "Here's your cut for helping me this summer."

An envelope appeared, her name scrawled across the front in his cursive penmanship. Shock flooded her system as she stared down at it. The top flap was tucked in, allowing her to see several twenties inside. Quick math told her it was a couple hundred dollars, maybe a bit more, and she was stunned further. Steve had saved some of the earnings? For _her_? Unable to say a word, she continued to gape as his free hand came up and scratched at the back of his neck, the envelope pressed closer to her.

"I, I know it's not a lot, but—"

Jarred out of her staring, her palm rose, cupping over the hand holding the envelope and stilling its approach toward her.

"You don't have to give me anything," she told him, earnestness coming to the fore. She hadn't gone with him, set things up and worked at collecting addresses and payments for later shipping, with the intent of making a profit for herself, and she had to let him know. Her rejection was gentled with a small, true smile. "I wanted to help. Besides, I didn't really do anything other than set up and annoy your ass during the downtime."

He shot her a look then, his own grin becoming sardonic.

"Selling yourself short won't get you anywhere, Holl." Sighing, he lowered his hands into his lap, forcing her to hastily withdraw her contact. A little twist and jump registered in his gut, but he brushed it aside. Gesturing to the envelope now seated on his leg, he confessed, "Truth is, I did really well this year, and you did help make that happen. Even by 'annoying my ass.'"

He brought up his hands to put air quotes around the last few words, making her giggle. The musical sound had him chuckling, too, before he picked the envelope up again, taking one of her hands and pressing it into her grip.

"Please, take it."

Slowly, he pressed his fingers into hers, the calloused pads of his enfolding the soft skin of hers and causing it to close around the parceled bills. A couple brushes of his thumb, and then he let go, leaving the money in her grip. Her gaze was latched onto it for several long seconds, deep inhalations making her chest rise and fall. Her brow screwed up in thought during that time, her tongue clicking before she spoke again.

"This isn't charity money, is it?" she asked bluntly, shooting him a look. If that was why he'd given it to her, then she definitely didn't want it; she may not have been rolling in dough, but she was providing for herself. She didn't want him to pity her, for whatever odd reason that he would.

His brow furrowed at that; now he looked like he'd been insulted. "Of course not. You've earned this, trust me."

Chagrined by his answer, Holly chewed her lip for a second or two. She knew it wasn't cheap or easy to be an artist, particularly one with a studio to maintain and a lease to pay, on top of everything else. Steve deserved every penny earned, and she didn't want to take that from him.

"This is...you really shouldn't be..." she started, a catch in her throat stemming her protestations then.

"Well, I could take the money back and just buy you something." His tone was unaffected, but the quirk of his mouth and the slight spiking of his eyebrow belied that, and so she scrutinized him carefully. Lifting a shoulder, he went on, "I know you had your eye on those lovely horse figurines from that open market a few weeks back. I'm sure I could find the guy's webpage and—"

"No, no! Not necessary," she cut him off, a tremor of alarm ripping through her. Though she knew he was joking, she couldn't take the chance of calling his bluff. The horse figurines were horrendous, and had been the subject of mockery once they'd departed from the market that night. Huffing out a sigh, she glanced down at the envelope in her hands, staring at it for a few moments before folding it and wedging it into her jeans pocket. "This feels like blackmail."

A laugh coursed out of Steve's throat, and he inclined his head. "More like forcing the issue, but if it got you to take it..."

Her eyes rolled again, but the measure of fondness in her irises could not be pushed aside. Scooting the edge of the couch, she glanced up at the clock on the far wall. It had only been a few minutes, but she knew she needed to get back to her post as swiftly as possible.

"Shut up. I should probably..." she trailed off, noticing the peek of royal blue over the top of the zipper of his hoodie. Squinting at it, a suspicion formed in her mind. How had she not noticed it before? "Hold on."

Catching her narrowed glance, Steve followed it down, frowning at himself. "What?"

Her hand shot out, fingers snatching at the zip and wrenching it down swiftly. A little shocked by her move, Steve could feel a rush of heat flood his face as she revealed the shirt he was wearing underneath. Her eyes raked over the white star on the blue cotton, the white and red stripes below hinted at. The squint turned into a wide-eyed gaze, and her irises lit up impishly.

"I knew it. I freakin' knew it," she proclaimed, tapping her finger directly on the star. Despite his protestations, she knew he would like the shirt she'd gotten him for his birthday, jokey as it was. Crossing her arms and looking thoroughly satisfied, she could only smirk as Steve gaped up at her, his jaw quirking for a few seconds.

"I, I need to do laundry, this was clean," he stammered out an excuse, the pink smattering along his cheekbones becoming starker.

"Sure. Whatever you say, Captain America," she teased, bending forward and pretending to fix the collar of his tee. When it was supposedly straightened, she rested her hands on his shoulders, patting them for effect. His baby blues narrowed in on her, the grim set of his mouth cutting a hard line across his face.

"I hate you," he muttered petulantly, to which she giggled. The stoic set of his jaw loosened as her fingers shifted over his shirt, the heat of them bleeding through the material and warming him. Across the room, a loud voice broke the quiet hum set by the remaining customers and the overhead radio system.

"Kiddo! Need another refill!" one of the guys up by the windows called out, his cup raised and his dark eyes gleaming in the light of the morning. Shaking her head, she let out a short hum, her eye rolling up briefly before settling back on her companion beside her.

"Nah, you don't hate me," Holly countered Steve's earlier testiness, grinning shyly and squeezing his shoulders before stepping away. Back to work she went, a last glance cast over her shoulder at him. A thud in his chest broke through, and he swallowed hard.

"No, I don't," Steve said, nearly whispering to himself as he watched her go, the sway of her hips and the swing of her pulled-back hair entrancing him for several seconds. When she attended to her loudmouthed customer, all smiles and laughter exchanged, he sank back into the cushions of the sofa, grabbing his coffee and barely tasting it as his mind whirled on. As both of their minds whirled on; Holly was no more immune than he, her mind straying over to the couch long after he'd finished his drink and bid her farewell for the day.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ah, the second chapter, in which we saunter through summer, and some progress is made, and many things are learned and shared...;)

Those posters mentioned do exist; I've personally have always liked the style used for 1940's advertisements myself, so that was fun to look up.

I will take this opportunity to say that I had absolutely no intention for this to come off as a Peggy Carter bashing, in any sense. I absolutely adore her character; she's the kind of badass female protagonist that Marvel needs, and Hayley Atwell does her complete justice. HOWEVER, I couldn't very well ignore her, even for a modern, real-world AU setting. In this universe, she was faced with some difficult life events—struggling to get a foot in the door after finishing school, making a name for herself in her chosen profession, maintaining a relationship with her soldier boyfriend after he returned and dealt with PTSD—and she had to make difficult choices. In the end, she had to make the ones that would be the best for her and for Steve, and in this case, it was ending the relationship in pursuit of the career she wanted, and to find eventual healing in the separation. I guess all I can say is...break-ups happen, even to people you think could be together and could make it. That's life, and Peggy certainly isn't a villain; she's just human, like everyone else. And I know not everyone will be okay with this, but...AU, with canon character/OC pairing here.

SHIELD is intentionally spelled without capitals since it is not an acronym in this context. Just covering my bases on that. And also, because I have been asked, I have implied that, rather than being sickly and small up through his adult life, Steve has gone through a growth spurt after graduating high school—which can happen. I have an uncle who was of average height and build throughout grade school (slightly under for a bit), and when he went to college, he shot up and reached his maximum height of 6'4". Not a joke, y'all. Steve in this universe was just short until going to college/going into the army, as implied in the first chapter. So technically, he has the build of his post-serum body at the moment in this story. Again, just another instance of covering my bases because I've been asked to clarify.

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Facebook, Uber, _Star Wars_ , Coca-Cola, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

EDIT: Reposted due to site not registering update the previous week. Hopefully you'll all get the notification this time...I have decided to start a Twitter account specifically for my profile for this site. I will use it to promote chapter updates and such for my stories, in the hopes that I can keep you all in the loop that way. My Twitter handle is PhanProTweets, and I would love it if you followed me. I don't want site issues to prevent you guys from knowing what's going on, and I hope it will all work out.


	3. Autumn

Autumn

As August gave way to September, the heat of summer bled away slowly into fall. Reds and golds of autumn dotted the trees as the months progressed, the nip in the air covering the city by turns, change yet again the theme as the days marched on.

Settled in a booth along the front window, Holly Martin stared at her companion across from her as he spoke. It was a Sunday morning at the end of September, one free from taking log of the week's events at the studio or grinding coffee beans at the cafe, and she relished it. Able to meet up with her new-found friends at a diner several blocks away, she was the second to arrive, the blond man having beat her there by a few minutes. Some small talk was exchanged as they were led to their booth, a pot of coffee left for them as they waited for Sam and Wanda to get there. Upon hearing Steve's plans for the coming weekend, as well as the extension for her to come along, if she wished, she let her amusement show. Her eyebrows looked ready to hit her hairline, and she outright gave a laughing scoff.

"I can't believe it. You're a leafer," she said, shaking her head in mocking wonderment and sipping her coffee. For his part, the blond fellow gave her a confused smirk.

"What?"

Setting down her mug, she clarified, "You know, one of those people who specifically goes out to, like, Massachusetts or Rhode Island just to see the leaves change color. That's basically what you're telling me with this venture of yours: that that's you."

It was Steve's turn to scoff, shaking his head at her supposition.

"It's not like I go every year or something. And it's just for a few hours, anyway. I go and take reference photos for sketches or paintings. Or I blow up the photograph to sell, if it looks particularly good." He crossed his arms, a significant glance cast at her as he straightened his spine. "I have a purpose."

"Yeah, to see the pretty leaves," she said with faux sincerity, softening it with a teasing grin. He returned it, shrugging lightly while rotating his mug between his hands.

"Well, it was just a suggestion, if you wanted to get out of the city for awhile." Blue eyes slid over her, knowing full well how draining constantly being surrounded by metal and chrome and concrete could be. If even he needed a break from it at times, he could well imagine she would be of the same mind. And, well, he enjoyed her company. Spending a day with her, all on their own, was appealing. At the back of his mind, he scoffed at his blatant holding back even as he said, "If you're not into it, then—"

Her palm came up, cutting him off mid-sentence, and he struggled to hide his smirk in victory.

"Oh, no, I'll go. I'd love to see some city folk freak over the progression of nature."

Steve spiked an eyebrow at that, disguising the pleasure of her agreement with it. "You don't count St. Paul as a city?"

Holly pointed a finger at him, the corner of her mouth curving. "I didn't grow up in the concrete jungle. I grew up in a suburb. World of difference, my friend."

Conceding the point, he hid his true grin as he drank deeply from his own coffee. Meanwhile, Holly looked down into her cup, a few jitters running up her spine as she dwelt on the thought of the trip.

"So how will we be making this journey in the first place?" she wondered, a pertinent thought striking her and making its way out. "I didn't think you had a car."

"I've got the bike," he told her, a glimmer of excitement lighting his irises. Cocking his head to the left, he leaned forward on his elbows and asked, "Does that in any way improve the appeal of the trip for you?"

She had figured that would be his choice over renting a vehicle. That motorcycle was his pride and joy, evidently a restored number that he'd gotten in lieu of payment for several pieces of his art a few years back. It was like his baby, treated with utmost care and respect. There were only a number of days left in the season before he'd have to pack it in for the winter. Despite herself, she couldn't hold back a grin.

"…Slightly," she told him, the twinge of nerves inside her eased away as they laid out the plans for the trip, just in time for Maximoff and Wilson to slide in, each ready for a greasy-spoon breakfast and to take the conversation elsewhere.

Early in the morning on the following Saturday, the rough rumble of the motorcycle grew in the street, alerting Holly to Steve's arrival well before he called up to her. Grabbing her ever-ready backpack, she swiftly made her way down. As she didn't have any proper motorcycle gear, she made due with the heaviest jeans she own, capping it off with boots and a thick denim jacket she'd previously had buried at the back of her closet. Those would protect her somewhat, in the unlikely event that Steve would have to lay the bike down if things got out of control. Not allowing herself to dwell on it, she met him at the front door. He had kicked down the stand and was leaning against the motorcycle by the time she got outside. The decal on it declared it to be a Harley, but beyond that, she knew nothing of its specs (save that it was black, had packs, and a narrow seat for passengers behind the main seat). It was a gorgeous vehicle, she had to admit...and the rider of it was not too shabby, either, standing tall in his leathers and good boots.

His easy grin widened a bit when he spotted her, his gloved hands coming out of the pockets of his black leather jacket. However, it soon was eclipsed by seriousness, with him reaching into one of the packs attached to the side and pulling out a helmet and gloves for her to wear. The helmet was the kind that provided full face coverage, the shield over the eyes propped up as she pulled it on. It was a little tight, but she took comfort in the knowledge that it wouldn't fly off if there was an accident. As she inspected her borrowed gear and donned it, Steve quickly went over the basics of riding. Instructing her how to mount was not much of an issue, so long as she didn't surprise him by jumping on too quickly, and there were pegs for her feet to rest on. With no backrest on her seat, she would have to hold onto him, he noted, and a flurry of butterflies erupted then, but she ignored them in favor of him going over the tap signals they'd agreed on over text. As he began to go over how to lean into turns, she felt the nerves in her begin to jump up. She'd ridden on the backs of dirt bikes before, so a lot of the information was rehashing (which she felt she needed), but that was with her ex-boyfriend, who had a history of a blatant disregard for rules and who enjoyed jamming the brakes so that she would press against him at intervals. It wasn't long after that that she'd refused to ride with him, and while she knew it wasn't fair to judge Steve by those standards, she couldn't help the onslaught of memory as it came.

Spying the sudden spike of reticence in her gaze, he paused in his quick instruction, stepping forward and reaching out to her.

"Hey, it'll be okay," he murmured to reassure her, grasping her shoulders gently as he met her nervous gaze. In the back of her mind, she knew that he would be careful with her; he'd been riding for years, had taken the proper test and had the license to prove it. Inhaling deeply, she nodded soon enough, and he resumed his final speech for riding. Soon enough, she handed him her backpack. With it stowed away, he mounted the bike, his own helmet clipped into place and his gloved hand beckoning for her to join him. Laying a hand on his shoulder as a warning, she swung her leg over, feet firmly on the pegs and her arms tight around him as he started the motorcycle. With the slight tap and the hook of her thumb to indicate that she was ready to go, he pulled away from the curb, accelerating gradually as they made their way through Brooklyn's streets. Satisfied in his conduct as they went—no sharp turns, no brake-jamming of any sort—she felt herself relax as they broke past the city limits, miles of roads stretched before them as the metropolis melted behind them and gave way to greater expanses of greenery.

The little town he brought them to a couple of hours later seemed to be one of the kind featured on picture postcards, complete with rolling hills and the white steeple of the church cutting a swatch into the sky. Kingston's wide main street harkened as they pulled into town, the hiding the docked boats on the water behind its shops and restaurants. Upon arrival, Holly was enchanted by it, having not really been amidst a place with such charm in quite awhile (Brooklyn really wasn't bad at all, but there was a difference between these two cities, and it was obvious). Armed with his camera and a memory card that was empty, Steve set to work, not only taking photographs of the leaves changing their colors, but of the buildings, of the replica ship called the Half Moon, and a shot up Broadway, the perspective of it taken from the middle of the road and angled up. Holly had trailed along behind him, taking the periods of rest between places to plug away at her writing notebook, jotting down the words that floated to mind as they became absorbed in the city. Where Steve observed visually, she took note in epistolary fashion. Hard at work in keeping up with him and scribbling her own entries, they barely noticed the time passing until a certain ex-soldier's stomach growled loudly. His sheepish grin was followed by her hearty laughter, and they chose to break for lunch. An Italian eatery on Broadway suited that purpose fully, jokes and light banter traded back and forth over lasagna bolognese and bucatini alfredo (which she paid for at her insistence, even though she later caught Steve attempting to slip her credit card out of the holder and took a bite of his dessert as penance). As well as that, they'd formulated an attack strategy, working cover the most ground possible in their remaining hours. The click and whir of the shutters echoed as they moved past monuments and the city hall, foliage prominent in a good majority of them.

Their final stop for the day, a wide park next to the river with a fantastic grove of interspersed trees rolling back into the hills, was pleasant. Picnic tables and benches dotted a path that ran parallel to the river, the sun's rays dancing along the waters. Thinking Steve was well-occupied with his task, Holly had sat atop one of the tables, taking a moment to let her mind rest and doodling random shapes in the margins. Unbeknownst to her, a tiny, joyful grin had overtaken her mouth, and her shoulders were relaxed. The click of the camera, the staccato beat the backtrack of her day, grew louder, catching her attention. Glancing up, she found herself staring down the lens, the viewfinder hoisted to her companion's eyes and his finger pressing rapidly.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, her eyebrows rising as she chuckled at him.

Steve grinned at her, patting the side of his camera for effect as he lowered it to look properly at her.

"Obvious."

She rolled her eyes at him, but she didn't lose the playfulness that sprang up on her face. By that point, she knew about his penchant to capture subjects on paper or camera with almost total abandon, regardless of the suitability of the subject in question. (Really, she questioned her suitability; everyone and everything else had better potential.) Either way, it meant that he was forever finding new focus in the slightest of things, and that focus could be drawn onto those closest to him.

"You're supposed to be taking pictures of the scenery. You know, the pretty things around us."

His blue gaze never wavered from her, and she felt her face flush even more under his scrutiny. She dropped her focus back to the notebook in her lap, scrawling a few lines in an effort to banish the sudden thud in her chest.

"Right. Taking pictures of pretty things," he said, almost as an afterthought as he continued to look at her. In her haste to write and gloss over what he was doing, she failed to hear the clicks of the shutter that followed, choice shots taken of her at work, wavy hair falling to one side as the residual pink in her cheeks toned her face. Getting the pictures, Steve lowered the camera again. Almost as if in a trance, he made his way over to her, resting against the table and observing the curl of her fingers around her pen, the loop of her handwriting on the page. His sudden proximity had her slowly trailing her gaze up again, ice blue meeting earthy brown for several long moments, flicking over the set of them, and the curve of her jaw.

"Steve?" she gasped, unconsciously turning towards him.

Blinking, he seemed to realize where he was again, and he ducked his head. The moment was broken, and Holly was felt dually relieved and saddened by it happening.

"Um, we should probably go, get back to the city before it's very late," he said, dipping his chin at the tree break and noting the sun as it lowered. It would be dark by the time they returned anyway, but it didn't make sense to prolong the departure.

"Yeah, right," Holly agreed, clearing her throat and rising from her seat on the picnic table. Pocketing her pen and flipping her notebook shut, she adopted a stern expression. Wagging her finger at him, she remarked, "No poppin' wheelies on the way back, got it?"

A laugh ripped out of him then, and he inclined his head.

"You're safe with me, I promise," he told her, solemnly crossing his heart with his free hand. Even with his oath made, he wasn't altogether surprised that her arms stilled wrapped tightly around him when they packed up and mounted the bike. Not surprised, and not displeased, he noted silently, a half-grin on his lips as he patted her linked hands gently. Tucking on his helmet, he waited until she patted his stomach and gave him the thumbs-up to go, something akin to flutters flushing through him yet again as he fired up the engine. Easing out onto the road, he turned toward home, the trust of the girl behind him filling him as they went.

 **xXxXxXx**

Holly glanced down at her phone, wondering for the millionth time if she had done the right thing by agreeing to this. Bits and pieces of her heart and stomach were shrinking at the idea, even despite having said yes to the idea. Dropping the device into her pocket, she wrapped her pea coat tighter around her, the coolness of the mid-October evening snapping at her. She was waiting in front of a restaurant, the unimposing brick building behind her the chosen venue for her date that night. A good percentage of the handiwork in the endeavor was not hers, and she had trouble looking past that as she waited for him to arrive. It had been easily constructed, and in the end, she knew she really couldn't blame anybody but herself for it when she thought back to the events that led to that evening.

" _Come on," Natasha had said, wheedling at her as she had for the better part of five minutes. The self-defense class she'd taught had finished, though Holly had stayed behind to grab a late dinner with her. A late dinner and a proposal, she later discovered it to be, as they disembarked for the changing room to prepare to leave._

" _No," Holly chirped back at her, shaking her head as she changed back into her jeans. The idea didn't really have much appeal to her, and she let it show on her face. To that, the redheaded beauty scoffed, flapping a hand in the air._

" _It's one harmless, little..."_

" _Then you do it," the brunette countered, buttoning her pants and moving on to pull on her sneakers. With a brittle smile, she continued, "Have fun."_

" _You've been in New York for several months, and you haven't been on a date."_

 _Holly snorted outright at that. "You going to tack on the 'you aren't getting any younger' cliché, too, Natasha? I've, I've been busy."_

 _The petite woman beside her held out a placating palm. "I'm just saying, you should give it a shot. That way you can be certain which kind of men are better: your Midwestern brethren or the hardy fellows of the East Coast."_

 _The other woman giggled, tipping her head back against the wall._

" _New Englanders," she groused in good nature, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Strange ones, the lot of you."_

 _Natasha held up a single finger in a 'now see here' gesture. "I was born in Russia, thank you."_

" _And you moved here when you were, like, six. You're more one than the other, now," Holly countered, not having any of that argument. Frustrated, the redhead canted her head._

" _Seriously, where's the problem in this?" Natasha riposted, her adept gaze sliding over her compatriot. Inwardly, she mused about exactly what the problem was, why Holly would refuse to go out with a guy. Or rather, go out with a guy that she wasn't already drawn to. However, she could not state that aloud, as she would be rebuffed with assurances that there was no reason to think that, that the fellow she had been gravitating towards for months now was only her friend. They'd already been down that road, and she was not in the mood for Round Six of the Self-Denial Smackdown._

 _Instead, she waited patiently as Holly fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt, chewing her lip._

" _I just...I'm not sure about it," she confessed, a wince flickering over her features as she shrugged._

 _Spotting the true anxiety flashing over her friend's face, Natasha softened her stance. No matter what she chose to acknowledge, the idea of a blind date could be frightening in its own right, and the redhead did know that as truth. Carefully, she patted the other woman's arm, comforting her as best she could._

" _Trust me, I can spot dirt bags from a mile away. No guy I set you up with is one," she promised, holding up three fingers in a salute. Absently, Holly nodded, knowing that she would not willingly lead her astray. Sensing that she had her opening, Natasha further coaxed, "And I know who would suit the bill."_

 _Chewing the inside of her cheek, Holly could concede the point; it had been awhile since she was out of the game, and she hadn't been trying. If Natasha thought that she deserved a chance, why she should she deny it? Especially when she had someone in mind for her? It could work out, she thought, even as her chest nearly constricted at the idea. Worn down by the cajoling and the tactical sweetness that had been deployed against her, Holly gave a resigned sigh and nod._

" _Your inner yenta is having a field day with this, huh?" she quipped, unable to be truly upset when the other woman grinned widely, fetching up her phone and setting to work immediately._

With permission granted, Natasha passed along the word to the chosen fella, intent on the two of them getting together at the earliest possible time. With numbers and a few calls exchanged, she'd agreed to meet up with him later in the week, and thus she found herself waiting and questioning her good sense. Admittedly, a part of her was excited to be there, to have interest shown in her in such a way, even if the guy was a virtual stranger. It didn't cancel out the nerves, or the other little, nagging voice that was telling her that it wasn't right, that the guy was not—

"I hope you're not my date, because if you are, then I'm a total ass to leave you standing out here on your own and I definitely need to shape up," a voice crooned over her swirling musings, and she looked up. And looked up some more, as the fellow who had spoken was quite tall, at least six-foot-four. A shock of brown curls ringed his head, brown eyes set behind black square frames and an easy grin on his face. Brushing down the dark blue coat he work and shifting in his stance, his posture became less stiff as Holly pushed away from the bricks behind her, a hesitant smile dawning.

"Don't punish yourself too much," she told him, giving him a little wave as she stepped forward. "Hi. I take it you're Todd, right?"

"Guilty," he said, bashful smile on his lips and his head tipping to the right. Extending a hand, he shook hers with alacrity. "And you're Holly. Nice to meet you."

Taking her inside for dinner, they took tentative steps to get to know one another. Todd worked as an archivist for the library, handling precious texts and documents that had been gifted to the space. Fascinated by the idea of working with old books, Holly did ask after what the daily routine for that was. What she got was an unexpected story. With most of his work taking place in the basement of the library, he was hard-pressed to fit in there daily due to his height, which led to him nearly always brushing the ceiling and making sure he never got too excited about he was examining. Otherwise, he was liable to bang his head just by standing up straight. Laughing outright, Holly, at his prompting, told him of her work, of how she was juggling two jobs to pay the rent since she decided to make a fresh start in the city. Over the meal, she fell into a fairly easy rapport with Todd, once the ice had been broken and the nerves settled. He was a sweet fellow, passionate about his work and his dog (a blue heeler that he adored and showed her pictures of), and he'd made her laugh a few times. He appeared interested in the select stories she shared from her upbringing in the Midwest, asking her a few questions about the differences between there and Brooklyn that she'd noticed thus far. All in all, Todd was a likeable guy.

However, even as she was able to speak a bit more easily with him, there was a lack of spark. Something about it all just didn't click for her, a rush of disappointment flooding her as the meal was finished and the plates taken away. As they bundled themselves back into their coats, he offered to talk her on a short walk, his arm out to her, and she accepted, wanting to process the jumble of her mind as they went. Her stomach settled as they traded remarks back and forth, observations of the passerby and the turn of the weather over the last few weeks, but her mind did not. There was no reason not to like Todd, in her estimation, and truthfully, she did like him. But it was merely on a friendly level.

She glimpsed him out the corner of her eye, the strong jawline and aquiline nose, acknowledging his good looks. Even so, there was no attraction to him for her. Perhaps it was a little too much for a first date, but she...she knew when she was attracted to someone, and she knew it was something she couldn't force. And she didn't feel that way for Todd, nor did she think she could feel that way for him in the future. A tremor of dissatisfaction wormed through her, and as they plodded further down the sidewalk, she bit her lip, wondering how on Earth she could salvage the night without getting in too deep or hurting him.

"So..." Holly trailed off, uncertain how to proceed from there. The pair paused on the sidewalk, turning towards one another as she withdrew her hand from his arm.

"So," Todd returned, looking down at her and giving her a lopsided smile. "I think we can agree this was fun, yeah?"

It wasn't a hard concession to make, so Holly dipped her chin. "Yeah, I had a good time."

"But not good enough to kiss good-night?" he posited, leaning in a little. When Holly blinked and felt her face twitch, Todd pulled back, shaking his head and snickering ruefully. "No, you don't want to. Fair enough."

Taken aback by his bluntness, as well as his accurate perception and acceptance, she stared at him.

"And you're not mad?" she asked him. Not to say that all men were jerks or anything like that, but she had been out in the world before. Some people did get offended over that sort of thing; it was a relief to know that Todd wasn't one of those people. For his part, he hummed in his throat and shook his head.

"What good would it do for either of us if I pushed? It's rude, and besides, I can tell when a girl is interested." He looked at her point-blank, and uttered, "You aren't. No point."

Even as relief poured through her veins, she also felt badly about it all. She had come out with the intention of trying, at least, to make it work. However, it had become clear to her that it simply wasn't. He only made it obvious that he knew; he didn't hold it against her.

"It's nothing against you personally. Really," she affirmed, laying a hand on his arm and meeting his gaze directly. "You're pretty cool. I'm kinda wondering why you haven't been around, if you know Nat."

Todd smiled at that and craned his head back.

"I think her on-again, off-again guy would have a problem with me popping up, considering I went out with her a few times." At once, he held up a hand, spying her pronounced wince. "Joking, joking."

Well, he wasn't joking about going out with Romanoff; the redheaded beauty had confirmed it herself to Holly. But he actually was on good terms with James, once the situation among them all was sorted out (he hadn't realized the nature of their relationship until after the third date, and when he did, he decided it wasn't worth getting tangled in), and, all told, thought he was an okay guy.

"No, I've been having my own things," he told Holly, the set of his features taking on a bittersweet twist. "This is the first time I've gone out with a girl in a few weeks."

The brunette woman couldn't help but let her eyebrows spike. "Weeks, huh?"

His hand came up, brushing away the deadpan nature of the words.

"I was in a long-distance relationship prior," he explained, a flash of pain coasting over his irises. Shrugging, he scuffed a toe against the pavement. "We broke up at the end of September. Barely felt human until a few days ago."

Unwelcome understanding dawned on her then, and she suddenly had more of a bone to pick with Nat than she had previously. Still, she forced herself to maintain a pleasant expression.

"So how has the rebound date been going for you?" she asked aloud, inwardly kicking herself for giving into her less-than-stellar impulse in that moment. Todd let out a breathy chuckle before patting her on the shoulder.

"I am looking at it as making a new friend," he said quietly, his amiable grin remaining in place. "That okay?"

Humbled by his offer, and genuine set of his countenance, she inhaled deeply, nodding once.

"That's fine. Totally open to that," she told him, taking his hand in hers and shaking on it. The deal was made, and he chuckled, looking relaxed in her presence again. At that moment, her phone vibrated in her pocket, causing her to jump. Taking it out, she spotted the name attached to the text she got, and she tipped her head comically. "And speaking of..."

It was the matchmaker herself, inquiring as to whether she was on her way home. If so, she invited her to stop by the bar she and the boys were at (no doubt meaning Bucky, Sam, Thor, and Steve) for a postmortem. Mentally debating for several moments, she tucked the device away, looking up at her date.

"So, a few of the guys are down at this bar a few blocks over," she told Todd. Taking in his quizzical reaction, and she hastened to elaborate. "You want to come along, New Friend? Night's still pretty young." Tempting him with the offer, she watched as he scrubbed a hand along his jaw. He canted his head, still on the fence about the idea, and she decided to sweeten the pot. "I'll buy you a beer."

His eyebrows flew up, and his smile became wide.

"I can agree to that." He crooked his elbow, holding it out until she looped her arms through his, quick steps taking them in the right direction.

The bar they'd gone to was in the basement beneath an office building, wide steps leading below the street into a wide space. The bar itself boasted good liquor, and decent food for the small kitchen it provided. Booths lined the far wall, a few tables dotting the main space before opening up onto the side area wherein the two pool tables and dartboards were housed. It was there that the guys and Nat had taken a station, Thor the easiest to spot since he was the same height as Todd. The big blond man waved a hand at her, indicating for her and her new friend to come over, sheltering the others with his frame.

Sheltering Steve from where he sat by the wall, his mug at his lips and a cue in hand.

Steve spotted them once his friend moved away, sitting straighter and swallowing hard as Holly came into view, practically dwarfed by the guy behind her. Giving the fellow a cursory glance, his attention moved back to the girl, his friend. His friend, who unbuttoned her coat and showed off the black dress she was wearing. It hugged her curves, swishing about her knees as she walked, and her legs were set off to good advantage in the low heels she wore. Taking a glance at himself—an old t-shirt, jeans, and his scruffy boots—she definitely looked much better in comparison.

Not that there was meant to be a comparison between them, of course, he reprimanded himself as he forced his gaze onto his own shoes. She had a reason to be all dolled up, and it wasn't for meeting him—them, all of them—there.

When he'd learned of her date, Natasha nonchalantly slipping it into conversation after they'd gotten their beers and set up camp around the pool table, he'd felt his insides twist, despite merely affecting pleasant surprise on the outside. He chalked it up to indigestion, initially, but as it remained while he took his shots and played a few rounds, he couldn't ignore it. The situation put him off, which was unfair, really. Granted, he didn't really know the guy, but as he glanced back up and caught the way the fellow was looking at Holly, all small smiles and chattering with her in easy camaraderie, he didn't seem so bad. Natasha was a great judge of character, so he couldn't imagine the curly-haired giant (which was a bit much, considering he really only over-topped Steve by a few inches) being anything but a good guy.

And Holly, well...she deserved someone good.

And if it was what Holly wanted, then who was he to object?

Exactly the point, his brain spat at him, though it was lost when she turned and spotted him, smiling broadly before she murmured something to him. Following her gaze, he merely nodded, the curls of his hair bobbing as he patted her back and watched her walk away. She shifted and shunted around the other occupants of the bar, stumbling over hastily to his side.

"Hey, you," she greeted Steve, warmth running through him at her pleased tone.

"Hi," he replied, keeping his smile on his face even as his stomach flipped. Setting his mug to the side, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her as any friend would. Chancing a glance over her head, he nodded to Todd, a salute in greeting given back as he headed over to the bar. Releasing Holly, he sat back down, gesturing with his cue. "How's your date?"

Catching his motion, she looked over at her new-found friend signaling the bartender, flashing the other woman a wink and a wide grin, and she snorted in good humor.

"Over. We're just hanging out as friends right now," she confessed, shrugging. Flicking a glance at him beneath her eyelashes, she leaned against the wall and sighed, "Neither of us was feeling it."

Swallowing the sip of beer he'd taken, Steve let his brow crease. "Really?"

Holly shook her head. "No. We gave it a shot, but I'm afraid we're going to have to disappoint the yenta on this one."

The twist in Steve's gut finally loosened, and he could feel his body practically sag in relief even as he clucked his tongue in mock sympathy.

"Poor Natasha."

"Oh, well. I'll give her marks for effort, even if it's a rebound set-up," she replied, the tightness around her mouth a little evident when she told him that. Flapping a hand in the air, she concluded, "I'll have a few words with her, by Halloween if not sooner."

"You're going to the shindig here?" he wondered, recalling Natasha chatting about it earlier to Thor when they'd arrived. Holly nodded.

"Um, to the pre-party and the bar," she clarified. Wanda had insisted she come along and get ready with her and Jane that evening, with the promise of Nat coming along, too. Having not gone out properly for Halloween in years, she agreed, figuring it would be a good time. "Anything post will probably involve me crashing on the couch and sleeping it off until November 2nd. What about you?"

"I'm putting in an appearance," he said, rotating the cue in his hands. Flicking a glance over at the pool table, he dropped his voice lower, encouraging Holly to step closer to listen. The scent of vanilla and sugar washed over him then, and he muttered, "Somebody's gotta be on Bucky's side since they're 'friends' again, and they'll be pretending to scope out other people in the same room."

Holly let out a long-suffering sigh, glancing over as well. The brunet man was on the opposite side of the pool table, lining up his shot after several long minutes of deliberation. From behind him, Natasha had been rolling his eyes and making mock gestures to snatch his cue backward, a wicked gleam in her irises as Sam struggled to withhold his laughter. Unlike the previous weeks, the redhead was careful to maintain her distance, and Bucky was being careful to treat her no differently than anybody else. Knowing that just a month previously they'd been caught passionately kissing in Steve's kitchen (which pissed off the blond man, now that they made him question the integrity of his own home), she was baffled by the turn.

"How is what they're doing even legitimate? Isn't it exhausting?" she asked aloud, driven by curiosity and genuine befuddlement. "I'm an outsider, and I'm tired of it after a few months of knowing them."

Steve cupped a hand in the air, having no better answer after all the years of knowing them save for the one he gave her next.

"It's part of the appeal for them, I think. Technically not attached, but they continue to revolve around each other. It's kinda been this way since they met." A rush of memories from middle school came to the fore of his mind, his observances from the sidelines as the redheaded beauty and his best friend danced around each other for years, and he had to blink a few times to clear them away. "Can't really do anything about it; Bucky hasn't been this way about anyone else. Only her."

Holly's eyebrows inclined at that, her fingers curling around the chain of her necklace. "Sounds kind of like a twisted, convoluted sort of love."

Steve dropped his gaze to his feet, a sigh of his own crawling out of his mouth.

"It is," he professed, looking at two of his best friends and shaking his head. While they pretended otherwise, he could recognize what they felt for one another. Their refusal to acknowledge it baffled him; from experience, he knew that being in love could be terrifying, particularly at the beginning when the feelings were constantly churning and muddling up everything inside. However, the end result—when it worked out, of course—was more than worth it, a chance worth taking. He just couldn't understand it, no matter how many times Bucky admonished him for fussing or Nat stonewalled him when he pressed.

Of course, his reasoning had been compiled over years of speculation, and was not something he was just going to blurt out in public, not in such a casual setting.

Instead, he nearly whispered, "I want the best for both of them, but they make it incredibly hard sometimes."

A few moments of quiet descended between them, the music on the jukebox and the clack of the balls under the chatter of the patrons of the bar filtering in and out.

"Well, nothing in life is simple," Holly posited soon enough, her easy statement resonating even so. Her hand settled on his bicep, and she rubbed it comfortingly. Waiting until he looked at her again, she let out a soft exhale. "It's their thing; don't take it on too much."

After a couple more seconds, he let his head inclined, and his mouth curved into a partial grin.

"Fair point," he conceded, glancing over at the table in time to watch as Bucky sank his last shot. At that, he frowned, wrinkling his nose as the brunet man was given a high five by Thor, the blond behemoth pleased to have been his partner during the game. Wilson, lifting a shoulder, spread his hands in apology. "Oh, damn it."

"I call next game!" Holly said, completely shucking off her coat and draping it over another empty stool, striding up to the table eagerly. At that point, Todd joined their party, a can of hard cider handed to Holly as introductions went around. Fitting into the stream of game-play, a couple more rounds went by as he leaned against the wall, contributing his opinion and veritably refereeing the others as they made their shots. As another hour slid by, though, he became a mite pensive, his attention grabbed by something he had failed to notice before.

"You doing okay, Todd?" a voice called him out of his musings, and he looked down as the one called Sam tilted his head. Shrugging a shoulder, the taller man shifted in his stance.

"Yes, just..." He tipped his head to where Steve and Holly stood, each with a hand on a pool cue and seemingly arguing over whether or not she would take it from him. Teasing words and grins were tossed to one another, her tapping his chest with her free hand and laughing as he rolled his eyes and poked her in the side. All innocent on the surface, but the curly-haired man could see the gentleness there, the sweetness. There was brightness in her expression that had been missing earlier in the evening, even though she'd been pleasant and nice enough to him. With Steve, though, it came out, and it was reflected back at her as well. Todd drank from his glass, smirking a little. "Guess that explains it."

Following his gaze, Sam clicked his tongue in sympathy for the guy, patting his shoulder. The tete-a-tete between the man and woman across the room was nothing new to him; Holly and Steve had been like that in company since she was first introduced to them all, though the boldness in their movements grew over time. He just felt bad for Todd, as he'd been brought in between them and had to see for himself why he was relegated to friend status while the two stumbled blindly and tried to affix any sort of label on their relationship—save for the one they were avoiding crossing lines to get to.

"Yeah. Sorry, dude."

"It's okay," the taller man was saying and Wilson cast a glance at him. He didn't even look all that fazed, or offended. Truly, it was alright with him. Holly was a nice girl, and he had meant what he said about just being a friend to her. He was able to tell her heart really wasn't in it, wasn't into him, and to be honest, he wasn't ready to be into anyone else himself. He'd discovered that halfway through dinner, but he stuck it out, in the hopes that he could prove himself wrong. It was a learning experience, one that he could utilize to his advantage. Besides, coming between whatever was going on there was not something he wanted to get involved in; been there, done that, and this was the result of his previous travails. Snickering, he murmured low, "Better not to interrupt a good thing when it's going, right?"

"Right," Sam replied, glancing behind the taller man to Natasha, who was watching the proceedings under hooded eyes. She flicked her ocean-colored eyes up at him, the hint of smirk playing along her lips. Whatever her intentions were for the evening, things seemed to be playing out in her favor as Holly finally liberated the cue from Steve, pivoting fast and taking her turn at the table just as he stepped up beside her, his palm laying absently on the small of her back.

Any gloating, though, was expressed merely as the spiking of an eyebrow, and the game continued.

 **xXxXxXx**

As promised, Holly did meet with Wanda and Jane to ready herself for the Halloween weekend revels (something Thor texted his girlfriend in the midst of their dressing, along with a picture of him in a rendition of costuming that brought to mind his godly namesake). It had been a bit of a rush to get there on time, given how she'd been called into the dance studio to clarify several registration documents for the adult classes they were adding for the winter. Luckily, that was all done before it had gotten too late, but catching a cab had been a nightmare and a half, so she settled for walking back home, and then partway to Wanda's apartment. A small place, but it looked as though a Party City's holiday section had thrown up inside it, false webbing in every corner and orange and black streamers strung up around the curtain rods. A cauldron of candy was propped at the door, something the Maximoff girl would leave out for any kids in her building to partake in while they were gone.

It was a flurry of pop standards blasting on the radio as the women assembled their outfits, plastic pumpkins grinning crudely at them from every possible perch in the place and pizza snacked at while they traded places to fix hair and dress up. With no theme agreed on by the rest of the group that would be meeting up at the bar later, they settled for individual ideas. Natasha, having come off an afternoon private training bout with one of her most gifted students, settled for a black mask to go with her garb, fake weapons tucked in and around her gi as she proclaimed herself a ninja assassin. All too delighted with the holiday, Wanda had trussed herself up as a sorceress, a scarlet tunic and cape flowing as she affixed a self-fashioned headpiece to top it off. Jane, though not subscribing to a group theme, had decided to emulate her boyfriend in masquerading as the goddess Sif ("Trying to drop a hint, are we?" Nat asked when she saw the draping cloth around the slender brunette, knowing Norse mythology just as well and making Jane blush). Soon enough, the other brunette of the bunch got her turn to change

Sliding on her auburn wig and shifting her black tank top, Holly felt she made a respectable Mara Jade, even if she did have to go without Luke Skywalker at her side. Just as she was adjusting the white scarf and the discreet black jean shorts she wore over her leggings—since her keys, phone, and wallet had to go _somewhere—_ the call went out to leave, the girls swiftly grabbing coats and embarking out onto Brooklyn's streets.

Trick-or-treaters of all ages and sizes bobbed around the sidewalks, mothers and fathers in thick coats trailing after them as the women walked a little ways before grabbing a cab. The sounds of mirth and celebration were ringing around them, even as the vehicle's engine sputtered and they were let off half a block away from their destination. The guys were already there, waiting for them to arrive. IDs were shown, hands were stamped, and cover charges passes (highway robbery, in Holly's opinion, but she was overruled in regards to going elsewhere and not paying it), and soon enough, they were inside. Spying the guys first, Jane waved at them, with Thor rising from his seat and jovially gathering her up into her arms as they approached. A crimson cape billowed behind him as he turned on the spot, showing up the other fellows for a minute as he did so. Eventually, Bucky rose, a hat tipped rakishly on his head and his body swathed in a pinstripe suit, nodding down at Natasha before spiking an eyebrow. Sam snickered at that, smoothing down the purple blazer and frilly scarf at his throat, the wig he had on sliding slightly before he fixed the pendant bearing Prince's symbol to sit right (and Holly definitely gave him points for the attire). Moving her gaze just beyond him, she froze in place, a shiver running up her spine as she looked at the last of the party as he stood.

Brown fedora, leather bomber jacket, button-up and khakis with a satchel looped around him...and a few days' worth of scruff on his cheeks and chin. Steve dressing up as Indiana Jones was all at once too delightful for words and downright mean, in her mind.

Denial had only taken her so far, and after her date with Todd, when she forced herself to really examine why it had failed, she had realized it wasn't a random stranger that she wanted. No, her preferences ran to blond, blue-eyed smart-asses who gave as good as they got and stood strong despite everything that life threw at them. Or, at least, she preferred one in particular. And that had been quite enough to shake her, when she allowed herself to acknowledge the truth. It still shook her, truth be told, especially when she was confronted with moments like this, in which she looked past the label of friend and saw him as the man he was.

Shaking herself out of her staring, she strode forward, a finger tapping along the line of his chin and a joke about his razor withering away since it wasn't allowed to do its job dropping from her lips. It was lame, but he still smirked down at her, and she was able to get herself under control again. Celebratory shots were had, and whoops went up, chorused by their fellow revelers in the bar.

As the night wore on, the group split naturally, going their separate ways in the small space. Well, some split naturally; others were not happy with how the split happened.

"So how long until the ninja assassin gives the 1940's gangster a piece of her mind?" Holly murmured out the corner of her mouth roughly an hour later, arms crossing over her chest. Following her gaze, Steve snorted when he saw Natasha narrowing in on Bucky, with him obliviously chatting up a green fairy with excessive glitter and an impressive décolletage. As he tipped his fedora at her, shifting a mite closer to indicate something more than friendly interest, the black-garbed woman across the room palmed her plastic throwing disks from a pocket. Guessing what she was about to do, the blond man shook his head, taking the brunette's elbow and turning her away.

"About as long as it will take for a Jedi and an archeologist to figure out an exit strategy," he replied, bright gaze darting over the crowds. Their spot at the far end of the bar was no longer a haven, and it would be difficult to put distance between them and their friends when they got into it. And, he knew from personal experience, that getting in between those two at that stage would be a mistake.

"Well, here's an obvious escape route: through the dance floor," Holly piped up, her own eyes riveted on a path they could probably get through. The middle of the space had been opened up, a DJ booth along the back wall along with a couple of lighting rigs. Pretty standard fare, in her experience, but the other costumed people enjoyed being able to move and groove. Sure, the bodies were consistently shifting, but if they moved quick, they had a decent chance to get over to the wide sitting area beyond, well out of the line of fire. Set on her course, she turned to her companion as she set down her finished drink. "You coming, Indy?"

Pushing aside his empty whiskey glass, he gestured her forward. "Lead the way, Mara Jade."

She did just that, the deep red curls of her wig bouncing over her shoulders as she started to carve a path across the dance floor. Not wishing to lose her in the thrum of the crowd, Steve made to grab her arm, fingers sliding down to lace with hers as they went. Approximately partway through, though, they were stalled out by the people shaking and swinging to the upbeat tempo of the blaring music. Lost and stuck, Holly stopped short, instinctively shying back as a groovin' mummy's arm swung towards her face. Pressing into Steve, she let out a breathless chuckle when he steadying her against him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as they stood surrounded on all sides.

"Alright, I fully admit this wasn't the best route to pick," she crowed, half-turning and leaning up so he could hear her. He grimaced at her pronouncement, but said nothing. Eyeing up the crowd again and looking for another possible path out, he almost missed her next words. "Since we're stuck here, anyway..."

Understanding what she was suggesting, Steve shook his head, nerves jumping up. Dancing was never a talent of his, never really getting the knack of anything more complicated than rotating in a circle. And the grinding that masqueraded as dancing those days, while intriguing on several levels, wasn't something he was confident in enduring in front of others. Therefore, he didn't want to embarrass himself there. More to the point, he didn't want to embarrass Holly with his ineptness.

"I don't, I can't—"

The hopeful look she gave him stemmed his refusal, and he glanced around the floor, lifting a shoulder as his jaw set. Holly moved a bit closer, drawing his gaze back to her, and he inhaled deeply.

"Here, gimme your hands," she said, the gentleness in her tone barely registering due to the fact that she had to nearly shout for him to hear her. Placing one of his hands on her waist (and ignoring the slight shiver that traveled down her back as he unconsciously tightened his grip on her), she gave him a teasing grin. "Now, I know this is difficult, but seventh graders have this figured out. I'm sure you can do it, too."

The diffidence and uncertainty on his face made her pause, and she laid her hand on his shoulder, dropping the impishness as her thumb brushed back and forth.

"Hey," she said, pulling him out of his own mind with the low tone of her voice. "I can trust you, right?"

He blinked down at her, nodding resolutely. "Yes."

She tipped her chin up, putting her free hand in his. "Alright, so trust me."

Mercifully, the song that had started to play over the speakers was several paces slower, though the floor was no less crowded. Stepping carefully, Steve took in a few harsh breaths as he started to guide Holly into a tight circle, letting the sway of her body dictate what he should do next. All the times he'd tried to dance with Peggy came to mind, how she guided him through the steps and giggled in turn, him more enjoying the time spent with her in his arms than with actually learning anything. Some of it stuck, and his steps now were more sure. With that surety came a new wave of enjoyment, the pleasure of seeing Holly look up happily at him, her faith rewarded as he managed to turn her out and bring her back when the impulse struck him. And his trust in her did not go unfounded; she did not mock him or get upset when he happened to glance over her toes by accident (she denied him doing it, and in any case, her boots were thick enough to absorb it, she'd said). Rather, she went along with him, somehow driving him forward without taking the lead. After turning her a second time, pleased bursts of laughter pouring from them both, she turned back in much closer than she had before. Her hands rested on his chest, and his palms were splayed along her lower back. The laughter slowly faded, the chatter and the delighted cries of the other party-goers disappeared for a few seconds as he held her, heart thumping rapidly in his chest.

As Holly's eyes went half-lidded, he caught himself leaning toward her, and Steve forced himself to look up.

"We should probably find a place to sit," he breathed, nodding blindly to the booths and tables across the floor as his frayed nerves snapped. "I need to..."

"Oh, sure," she gasped, taking his suggestion in stride even as she reeled from the sudden backpedal. The crowd around them had broken up enough so that there was a clear path out. Slotting her fingers with his, she started to lead the way again, fanning herself with her free hand. As her mind whirled and her heart thudded, she affected a cheery tone as she forced a chuckle. "Man, didn't know the dancing would make you so light-headed."

"Probably just the alcohol," he muttered, the taste of the lie nearly twisting his mouth as he kept on her heels. His tolerance was much higher than that, and he knew very well where the blame should lay. Spying Wilson at one of the big tables toward the back—his date for the evening was one of the girls who manned the desk at the VA, and she'd just arrived—they moved to join him, dollar test tube shots had all around when they sat down (the one he had tasted like grape cough syrup and he winced, while Holly took her cherry-flavored one like a champ). At some point, someone had managed to fetch up a few pitchers of beer, and those were indulged in as well, chatter and laughter flowing as the night wore on as their friends found them again.

In spite of the condition they were both inevitably in, Steve insisted on walking Holly home when she was ready to leave, not willing to let her go even the few blocks from the bar without an escort. Farewells were passed around, with Bucky shooting him a blatant wink and thumbs-up when Holly was busy hugging Wanda good-bye, and he had to duck his head before following her out the door. Both of them were tipsy and giggly by that point, and the walk itself was more of a stumbling mess, the earlier embarrassment forgotten shortly. It was such a rare state for both of them to be in, and they were enjoying themselves immensely as they trotted along. Often, Steve found himself bracing one hand along the walls they passed, and the other either fisting into the back of Holly's coat or secured around her hip so they did not stray too far from one another. Alternately, her fingers crooked around his jacket, the strap of the prop bag that crossed his chest, or (when she was walking backwards in front of him to make a point) she held onto his shirt. Once or twice she swiped his fedora, plunking it onto her own head and laughing when it tipped over her eyes. The short trek ended soon enough, with her insistence that he walk her up before setting off on his own, and him unable to refuse. She struggled to get her keys out of the pocket of her shorts, and he settled hard on either side of the door frame, trying his best not to smother her (or tempt himself, his brain hiccuped at him). When she finally succeeded in finding the keys and prying the front door open, she gave a cry of joy, which turned into a squawk of indignation as she pitched forward unsteadily. Hastily, he snapped out of his trance, arms bracing around her and pulling her back, nearly knocking the wind out of him as his spine thumped heavily into the frame and she pressed hard into his front. Embarrassed chuckles poured out of them when they realized their position, both man and woman withdrawing from the sudden spring of heat that fired deep inside. Stumbling through the door, Steve chanced a glance over his shoulder, catching a nearby cabbie on his smoke break give him a knowing glance and a salute. Pink tinged his cheeks, and he couldn't blame it on stepping into the warm building out of the cool night.

Up the flights of stairs and around the corner they went, her own apartment swimming into view. Once they were through the door, Steve took a glance around the space. Her apartment was a contrast to his, given how she had been forced to settle into a studio/efficiency. Still, she'd made the most of it, a small, well-padded couch along the far wall and the tiny television before it. The tall table and stools by the window in the kitchenette had a couple of empty takeout containers atop it, but he barely paid it any mind. Instead, his gaze wandered to the other end, where a painted folding screen separated the bed from the living space, giving the illusion of a bedroom. Leaning back against the door, he spied the edge of a blue-green blanket tipping off a dark comforter, that end of the apartment in disarray due to getting ready earlier, he surmised. Beside him, Holly began to shed the accouterments of her costume and shoving them into the closet just inside the entry, along with her coat. The white scarf, goggles, and plastic lightsaber were dropped to the floor with aplomb, her red wig tossed onto the upper shelf. Left in her tank top, shorts and leggings, the dark color accentuating her curves, Steve swallowed at the sight of her, pushing off of the door.

"Do you want me to—" he started, a thumb hooking back at the panels. Perhaps he should've just said his good-byes downstairs, not followed her up. He was cut off by her waving hand, her head tipping to the left. Pins and the hairband she was using to keep her natural brunette waves in place under the wig were removed, placed on one of the shelves of the nearby bookcase, and his focus dropped to the strands as they fell loose around her shoulders.

"Nah, night's still young. Stay, keep me company for a bit," she said, dark eyes wide and her smile growing again. Her fingers closed around his wrist, and she started to tug him further into the apartment. Complying easily enough, he took off his fedora, letting it drop on the floor along with his prop bag and jacket. Thinking they would be squeezing onto the small couch, he instead felt his eyebrows spike as she pulled him in a different direction.

"Where're we goin'?" he wondered, the slur in his words becoming a bit more pronounced.

"Bedroom," she explained, flapping a hand at the screen. His heart hammered in his chest as a hot spiral spun down to his stomach, all of which she was unaware. Instead, she went on, "Can chill there for awhile."

Steve dug in his heels, immovable now. Every atom of his body was screaming at him to do as she wanted, to do as _he_ wanted, but even in his state, he couldn't just go to her bed. Not that they were going to bed together or anything, but...he didn't want to take advantage of her in any way, didn't want to inadvertently hurt her by just following blindly.

He had to make sure it was what she really wanted.

Stopped short by his reticence, Holly looked up at him with confusion, maybe even with a mild tremor of hurt in her irises, and he quickly sought to do a little damage control.

"Can't do that on the couch?" he asked her, a corner of his mouth curling as the storm in his head swirled. She lifted a shoulder at him, tresses shifting as she shook her head.

"Bed's comfier, and I wanna lay down," she told him, eyes blinking owlishly and swaying a little now. Taking his other hand up, she playfully pulled on them and giggled. "C'mon, Stevie, don't make me beg."

He exhaled softly, and he took one step forward, unable to help the sweep of heat that flushed through him when she gave a victorious chirp.

"Wouldn't want that," he mumbled to himself, not stopping that time as she took him over to the bed. Sitting on the edge of it, she sighed happily, falling back against the blanket and rumpled comforter with her arms spread out. Snorting at her state, his bright eyes trailed down her form, watching as she unsuccessfully tried to toe her boots off. Clicking his tongue, he dropped onto his knees, seizing one leg and tugging at the laces of her shoe.

"What, Steve, what—" Holly croaked, getting onto her elbows to see.

"Gettin' your boots off. 'M helping," he explained, giving her a teasing squeeze on her calf as he removed the boot. Shocked giggles erupted from her, and she tried to roll away from him. Laughing outright, he braced his free palm on her other knee, trying to keep her in place. "Stop squirmin', Holl!"

Soon enough, she rolled back into place, fingers flicking at him to continue his work. Opting to be quick, he got the second boot off without any issue, though he did take the opportunity to tickle her newly-freed foot, delighting in her reaction.

"'Kay, fine, you helped, Cap'n!" she crooned, pushing herself to sit up straight again. Met with the sight of the tipsy, handsome young man on the ground between her legs and staring up at her, a flush crawled up her neck. He had no right to tease her like that, she thought to herself, even if he didn't have a clue what he was doing to her. Pushing those thoughts away forcefully, she leaned forward, tugging on his sleeve and tipping her head back towards the bed. "C'mere."

Nodding, he donned his signature half-grin, bracing his large hands on her knees as he hoisted himself off of the floor, the warmth of them bleeding through her leggings and shooting over her. Her hand twisted around his collar, dragging him down onto the bed beside her, the drop of his bigger body making the mattress rock and her flopping up a little. Both of them devolved into chuckles and giggles when the bed settled, legs hanging off the end of the bed as they faced the ceiling and just spoke about whatever floated through their minds.

(Well, not the first things, but the ones that wouldn't open themselves up more than they wanted, neither wishing for the alcohol in their systems to take control there.)

Talk of work segued easily into a report on Holly's family. When she finished telling him about her niece's recital that her mom sent her the video of, Steve extrapolated on a few childhood exploits he'd had with Bucky. That in turn led to speculation about what would happen the next day with him and Natasha, if they would continue to be seeing other people or if they would submit to the regular relationship paradigm they both seemed to resent falling into on and off. His money was on Natasha kicking the crap out of him first, while Holly posited that perhaps they could reach a calm agreement...once she stopped throwing her plastic weaponry at him.

It was easy, flowing from one conversation to the next despite the lack of connection between them. It had always been easy, talking to her, he thought, even when she could do no more than offer shy hellos and apologies when they first crossed paths.

Reaching a natural lull, the two looked at one another, gazes skittering over each other and little grins curving on their lips. The backs of their hands rested against each other, fingers gently twitching and brushing, and Steve let out a low sigh. The lateness of the hour was getting to him, and he knew that, as pleasant as it was to be with her, the time to do so was running out.

"Should probably go," he murmured quietly, stealing a glance at the digital clock just over Holly's shoulder. Leaning up onto his elbows, he was about to clamber off the bed when a hand shot out, gripping the shoulder of his shirt. Looking down, he was met with Holly's hooded eyes, the slow shake of her head.

"It's so late already. Might as well stay," she reasoned, inwardly turning cartwheels for taking the initiative and kicking herself for making a brash move. Swallowing, she shrugged a shoulder, hoping that he would accept her words and not go. "Catch a cab in the morning, after some sleep."

His gaze reflected hesitance, and she chose to meet it directly, her grip remaining firm. Letting out a slow breath, he eventually nodded, eyes slamming shut. His head was swimming, and he was so exhausted, and she wanted him to stay...

When she patted the bed for emphasis, he knew he was roundly defeated. There was absolutely no way he would be able to say no to her.

"…Okay," Steve agreed, not truly fighting against it, in any case. Sitting up, he bent and unlaced his own boots, dropping them one by one to the carpet. He lowered himself back to the mattress when finished, leaning his head back into the pillow there. He felt the bed rock a bit, shifting under her weight, and his brow furrowed. What was she doing? Casting a glance at her, he found her sitting upright, reaching out for him.

"No, no, on your side," she told him, a sudden spring of worry in her voice. Grabbing his wrist, she insistently tugged on it so that he would roll to face her. "Don't wanna have ya choke."

All through college, it was the hard and fast rule with her friends when they'd been drinking. Nobody was allowed to sleep on their backs; no night out was worth losing one another that way. And she certainly didn't want to lose him. Honestly, she'd rather he destroy her mattress with vomit, instead.

A groan of irritation rumbled out. "Not gonna ralph. I'm not that drunk."

"Don't care. Look at me," she commanded gently. After a few seconds, he complied with her wishes, shuffling on the comforter so that he was facing her. She had softened her demand with a smile of her own, blinking away the concern as best she could. Lying back down, she continued, "Make sure I don't roll over, either."

Rolling his eyes, Steve smirked a little. Noticing the fall of her hair over her face, his hand came up, tenderly brushing it back and tucking some behind her ear.

"You worry too much," he said in a low tone. Wanting to find some way to assuage her, he brought his hands up between them, curling his fingers and gesturing for her to comply. "You gimme your hands now." The corner of her mouth lifted, and she let her hands go into his. Once their palms were threaded together, he gripped firmly as they rested on the bed. "One of us starts to go, we'll feel it. You happy?"

"Gonna burst, I'm so happy," she retorted, turning back briefly to switch off the bedside lamp. The low chuckle that came out made her grin in the darkness, the hand she'd let go of seeking hers out.

"Knew it," he muttered, palms entwining again. A few seconds of silence followed, both of them shifting and shuffling in the effort to get comfortable. When they'd both settled down, Steve let his eyes close. His tongue, however, could not be quelled just yet. "Holly?"

"Hmm?"

Fingers squeezed hers, and a contented sigh came out. "'M glad I met you."

The broad smile was barely visible in the wash of the streetlamps through her window, but he could hear it in her whisper.

"Me, too."

It couldn't have been more than two hours since she initially dropped off, but Holly found herself blearily blinking in the darkness. The scant lighting in the street cast in a hazy glow, barely enough to make out the sleeping space. Her limbs felt heavy, legs tangled and arms wrapped around something. Someone. Her eyes flew open completely when her memory caught up with her. Steve...

Well, he was still on his side, at least.

Within the time they'd both fallen asleep, they had moved towards one another, reaching for an embrace they denied themselves in their waking hours. Steve seemed peaceful, content, as relaxed he could be while burrowing against her. A shiver ran up her own spine as she considered how close she was to him, the arm he'd thrown around her unconsciously curling tighter. The other was underneath her, useless save for the fact that it brought her closer to him. Hot breaths fanned onto her skin—across her mouth, as his forehead was tucked close enough to her to direct it downward—and she had to take a shaky one of her own. And then she had to swallow another as he shifted, heat washing over her as the thigh between hers pressed up, lower bodies drawn together tightly now. Perhaps she should have gotten him up, woken him so he could reclaim his personal space. However, she had no will to do so; having Steve so close was exactly what she wanted, and Holly couldn't force herself to give it up. Instead, she settled, the fingers of the hand slung over his shoulder sliding in slow, lazy circles against his shirt.

"Wish you could stay longer," she mouthed the words, not daring even to whisper them aloud. Holly did want him to stay, so badly it made her ache a little. Still, morning would come, and he would have to go, disentangle himself from this occurrence and go back home. Back to real life, where they were no more than good friends.

Idly, she mused that if that moment were part of a romantic comedy, he would've woken, having—miraculously—heard her desire and declaring how much he wished it, too. A confession, followed by an earth-shattering kiss, cutting to the next day where they were walking arm in arm towards the future with big, goofy smiles on their faces. Then the credits would roll with Van Morrison's _Someone Like You_ playing over the fade-out. She barely managed to stifle a giggle at her own ridiculous imaginings, and inwardly she groused about the unrealistic expectations those movies exhibited. Good Lord, she was stupid. As it was, he had kept on sleeping, blissfully unaware of her pleading, of her want, and she sighed through her nose. If she couldn't have the cheesy ending, she could have this, she reasoned, and so she let her eyelids fall shut, ready to surrender to dreams again.

He moved again, lowering down to rest his head in the crook of her neck. The barest brush of his lips against her skin made her gasp, but he did not stir, otherwise. His hair tickled her chin, softened slightly in sleep. On impulse, she dipped her head, enough to press her lips into his hair, inhaling the smell of the product in it and his own scent. Granted, he did smell faintly of the bar, too, but she reckoned that she did as well. Her heart thumped in her chest, and she closed her eyes once more.

' _I can have this,'_ she thought, willing herself to wind down and fall asleep again.

Darkness rolled toward dawn, the hazy light brightening the city inch by inch. As the first soft rays of light crawled through the bedroom, Steve nestled into the mattress, drawn out of sleep by the glow through the glass. Eyes shifted beneath the lids, a groan rumbled in his throat. He hadn't crossed over into hangover territory, thankfully, but he still wasn't at his best. His mouth tasted gross, he could still catch the scent of the bar on his clothes...though that smell was tempered by one that was sweeter, taking the edge away. More to the point, he couldn't feel his left arm, and his legs felt like they were tangled. A warm tangle, but a tangle nonetheless. Screwing up his brow, he lifted his leg up slightly, to gauge what was going on.

The warmth enfolding it tightened, and his throat constricted as well, choking down the groan he was tempted to give. A sigh, a breathy moan, echoed around him, stirring the strands of his hair. Fingers curled into him, a tiny tug making him shrug closer to the warmth. Steve's eyes shot open entirely, wavering frantically when his brain finally caught up to what was happening. He was tangled up with Holly, interlocked firmly and her leg hooked so high over his it was practically wrapped around his hip. Breath hitched in his chest, crawling slowly out of his nose as he understood how close together they really were. Lifting his head up, he risked a glance down, cursing in his mind at the rise he was getting out of the situation. He couldn't be doing this to her, couldn't be…practically groping her in her sleep. Perhaps he was being over-dramatic, but when his subconscious asserted itself over his conscious resolutions, how could he not be? The smart thing to do, he chided himself, would be to pull away, remove himself from the tangle. However, though he was screaming at himself to follow through, he couldn't. Not yet.

Holding her felt too good; the warmth of her body, the feel of her leg draped over his and her arm resting on him, tucked under his arm was too nice to leave. It had been so long since he'd held a woman he liked, that he…cared for. Too long since the ache of want had permeated him so deeply. And it was an ache, a persistent, pulsing throb that ran from his heart to all parts of his body. At that moment, the ache was both assuaged and fueled. Steve wanted that, and wanted more, with Holly.

Questioning his sense, he pressed his thigh upward again, the impulse too much to be ignored. Another sleepy gasp parted her lips, and he shivered when her hips rolled minutely against him. Heat was encompassing him now, making it difficult to swallow. The arm slung around her tightened, fingers delicately kneading into her shirt's material. As if prompted by his touch, she shuffled closer again, her forehead resting against the column of his throat, chest pressing fully to him. His imagination was running out of control as her heat melded with his, the softness of her curves meeting the planes of his body. All he wanted was to just turn her underneath him, bring up both of her legs to wrap around his waist, and—

 _'No, no. Stop there,'_ he screamed inwardly, the pounding in his blood pushing lower and lower the longer he remained tangled with her. Taking a shaky breath, he shut his eyes tightly, trying to think. _'Uh, baseball facts. What year did the Dodgers move from Brooklyn to L.A.?'_

Her nose bumped against his skin as she shifted again, lips parted and her breath tickling him as she snuggled in.

 _'Oh geez, feels so good...'_ he mused, wanting to get lost in the feel of her. A stern rebuke tore through him, shaking him out of it. _'No, no. Not like this. Not like this.'_

Bright eyes snapped open again, heart thumping in his chest as he fully realized what he wanted. Steve didn't want it to start like that, as good as it felt to be wrapped up with her. He didn't want the ambiguous night of drinking morphing to a morning hangover and loss of control as a beginning. He wanted...he wanted a beginning, period.

And that beginning could only happen the way he wanted, if he let her go right then.

The logic pounded through his skull loud enough for him to finally follow through, and he mentally berated himself for doing so even as he shifted. Looping his arm further around her waist, he lifted her up minutely to pull his numb limb out from underneath her. Once freed in that regard, his fingers curled under her knee, slowly elevating her leg just enough to scoot back from her. A frown creased her face in her sleep, and the grip she had on his shirt tightened the barest fraction. He froze, waiting until she relaxed before moving again. Pulling down the pillow he'd neglected for most of the night, he pressed it into her arms, snickering silently as she curled up around it and released her grasp on him. Rising from the bed, he caught sight of the bathroom door, shuffling over to it and shunting himself inside. Once he'd closed off the outer room, he started slapping his arm a bit, aiding the rushing tingle of returning feeling in it as he pivoted to the sink.

The faucet turned, he splashed cold water on his face, the shock of it knocking out the early morning haze little by little. Rubbing his palms against his eyes, he brought them down over his cheeks, the scruff on his chin buffing his skin. He'd need a shave once he got home, he mused mildly, fingers glancing over it as he looked at himself in the mirror. Although, if the way Holly had tipsily patted at his jaw both at the bar and in the apartment while talking, he might not want to...

At that, Steve groaned aloud, tipping his head back and slapping a hand to his forehead before raking it back through his hair. He had to get himself under control, and fast. Out the corner of his eye, he stared at the light green curtain shading the small shower cubicle and he bleakly wondered if he could sneak in a cold shower before the girl in the next room woke.

That was not meant to be, as a moan and groan floated through the panels, the creak of the mattress as she rolled over following.

"Steve?" he heard Holly call out, her voice both rough with sleep and tentative, as if she was unsure that he was still there. As if he'd just left without a farewell. Something in his chest twisted a bit, and he cleared his throat, purposefully turning on the sink so that her doubt could be eradicated.

"Yeah, uh, just a sec," he cried through the door, now desperate to look for a better excuse for being in the bathroom on his own, still needing a minute or two to fully cool down. Spying the toothpaste tube in the cup on the sink, he practically fell upon it, using his finger as an impromptu brush. Forcing his thoughts in a different direction—thinking of himself encased in ice for years, piercing and draining and _shriveling_ , seemed to do the trick—he finished his brushing soon enough, satisfied that his breath was at least marginally less disgusting. Rinsing out his mouth, he took another deep breath, scrubbing the hand towel over his face once more before tossing it onto the sink and opening the door again.

Stepping into the frame, he paused on the threshold as he spotted her on the far edge of the bed, back arching in a stretch. At once, he forced himself to look at his feet, his hard-won calm suddenly ready to fray again. Only when he heard her final moan in satisfaction did he look up again, with her blinking sleepily at him and grinning through her good-mornings. Hair was skewed, the make-up she'd neglected to take off was spotting a bit, but he only noticed her tiny grin, one that he couldn't help but return. Catching the curious glance she gave to him in the bathroom door, he scratched the back of his neck.

"Sorry, was looking for...had to brush my teeth," he told her, holding up the tube with a weak smile. Holly returned it, before a thought occurred to her.

"Oh, yeah," she breathed, a palm cupping over her mouth and the tinges of red decorating her cheeks. "I can understand why."

"Uh-huh," he agreed. Coughing once, he waggled the toothpaste at her, tucking his other hand into his pocket. "So, uh, if you need it..."

The red on her cheeks increased, and she stood slowly, the last effects of the alcohol still leaving her a mite unsteady.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, keeping her mouth covered as she walked over. Taking the toothpaste from his grasp, she attempted to smile up at him, passing him into the bath with a bit of a shuffle. Moving out of the doorway, he stumbled back to the bed, sitting on the end and blowing a sigh. He fell back on it for a few seconds, the vanilla and sugar scent of her wafting around him, and he couldn't help but breathe deeply.

In the bathroom, as she brushed her teeth vigorously, Holly was forcing herself to not feel disappointed about the end that was coming. Besides, it was just sleeping. She'd wanted her friend to be safe, had let him share her bed. Except...except it was much harder to assure herself that everything was as it should be, that nothing had changed.

Because it had. Because she couldn't control herself in her own damn sleep, it had. She was just praying that when he pulled away from their tangle earlier, he wasn't pulling away from her, too.

Rolling her eyes at herself in the mirror at her attitude, at her weirdness, she scrubbed at her teeth one last time before rinsing and spitting out the remains. Her toothbrush cleaned and tucked back into the cup with the paste, she shuddered at the smear of make-up on her face, plain soap and water employed harshly to get the last of it off. Thumps and grunts from the main room bled through the panels of the door, and after drying her face, she stumbled back out in time to see Steve on the couch and struggling to get his boots on. He'd called a cab to come pick him up, and he wanted to be ready for its arrival, he told her. Nodding, she felt her shoulders droop even as she affixed a tight smile on her lips. Thinking he could do with a little sustenance—anything to absorb what was left in his system—she found a granola bar in her cupboard, as well as handing off a can of soda to him. Not exactly nutritious, but it was food and caffeine, which would tide him over until he got back home. Accepting it with a smirk, he gnawed on the bar as she sat down beside him, flicking on the television. That way, the silence around them, and the events of the previous night that were weighing between them, wouldn't be as deafening.

Soon enough, his phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling the taxi's arrival downstairs, and he was slinging on his jacket, hat and bag in place as slowly as he dared. Watching him now instead of the show that was onscreen, she got to her feet as well, walking over to the door with him. Unable to help herself, she blurted out the first thing on her mind, before he could even say good-bye.

"Sorry about making you stay. I just, I didn't want…" she trailed off, the boldness of the night subdued in the light of day. His brow furrowed then; that's what she thought, that she'd forced him? That her concern for his well-being wasn't a good enough reason to ask him to stay?

Dark eyes peeped up at him before dropping down to her feet, and he felt his gut clench. No, he had to set her straight on that.

"Didn't make me do anything," he responded lightly. Suddenly, brown boots stepped into her eye-line, and a hand cupped her chin, bringing up her gaze to meet his. Absently, his thumb stroked along her jaw, bright eyes almost glittering in the early morning light. "You've got _nothing_ to be sorry for. Really."

The light emphasis on his words were not missed, if her narrowed gaze and slight curve of her mouth were anything to go by. Another brush of his thumb over her skin, and then his hand dropped, joining the other as they wrapped around her waist. Pulled into his embrace, she closed her eyes, reveling in the heat of him as it penetrated the thin cloth swathing her body, her arms tightening as she rested her chin on his shoulder. Drawn up onto her toes, she hardly felt the stretch as he held her, his cheek resting against her hair for a long moment. Later, after he'd let her go and stepped back, promising to text her later, she wasn't sure what to think.

But, given the way he'd grinned bashfully and retreated out the door with a last glance back at her, she knew exactly what she felt, and that was something she would not deny to herself any longer.

Because things had changed.

* * *

 **A/N:** ...See? Told you guys things would be developing between these two. ;) Holly and Steve are finally being honest with themselves about how they feel. Now, they just need to be honest with each other. Also, if anyone is concerned about the pace, bear in mind that in context, Steve and Holly have known each other for around seven months at this point. So even if it might seem quick, in the grand scheme of things, it's really not terribly fast.

Anybody else picturing Chris Evans in an Indiana Jones costume right now? Just me? Okay...

Steve's motorcycle is a 2012 Harley-Davidson Softail Slim, with some modifications. Just for reference. And any motorcycle etiquette that I may or may not have mentioned was gleaned through Internet research. I have not ridden a motorcycle before, to my knowledge, so yes, I had to look it up. I know, I severely lack in life experience, even at my age, but still...

Lastly, since this is an AU...Steve did not have the serum in this universe, ergo he CAN get drunk. He just has a high tolerance for alcohol.

We're one chapter away from the end, y'all. I know, cruel of me to leave it at that, but it will be coming soon. I intend to be finished with story before the end of June, at the absolute latest, so just hang tight!

And remember: I have a Twitter account now solely for letting you guys know when new chapters are up. And also it shows my general dorkiness, if you're interested in that as well. My handle is PhanProTweets. Add me if you so choose!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Harley-Davidson, _Indiana Jones_ saga, _Star Wars_ , Van Morrison's _Someone Like You_ , etc.)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	4. Winter

Winter

Brisk, bitter cold swept into the city, the borough of Brooklyn seemingly turning from a fall wonder to a winter haven seemingly overnight. While that was not necessarily true, the air definitely was chilled, frost and snow coming in short bursts as the month of November twisted on. The coming season promised more as they days shortened and frigidness encroached on the territory. That did not stop Steve Rogers from going out and enjoying it, though, even if he disliked the cold itself. Winter held a beauty of its own kind, and he would be remiss in ignoring it. It helped that, at that moment, he was not enduring it alone.

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Steve asked as he trudged over the slick path, roughly a week before the event itself. Prospect Park was growing barer as the season loomed before them, the chill in the air and the frost settling on everything marking it for the end. His head swiveled to look down at his companion, her drawing extra warmth from him as she looped her arm through his and kept close by his side.

Holly looked up at him, a sad smile perched on her lips. It was a day off for both of them, a chance provided for the pair to hang out and get away from certain aspects of their lives, but it appeared that she would not be able to escape that one.

"It's gonna be take-out and a day in for me," she told him after a few seconds, sniffing to stop her nose from running in the cold. Spying the downcast turn of her countenance, Steve immediately felt his stomach churn in sympathy.

"So, you picked then," he stated aloud, alluding to a previous conversation they'd had. While Holly did well enough to support herself at both her jobs, she wasn't exactly rolling in the dough. Therefore, with two major holidays coming up with a single month's span of time, she had to make a choice of which she would return to the Midwest and her family for. Evidently, she'd come to her conclusion.

The ache of it was clear in her face, though she kept her grin in place.

"Yeah, the birth of Christ won out over the day of turkey for going back to Minnesota," she confirmed, a sudden wave of memory and nostalgia rushing over at the past Thanksgivings she'd participated in. To her, there really wasn't much of a choice to make; Christmas had more resonance with her family, and she knew which she would rather take the time for. Still, it wasn't an easy concession to make, especially since she hadn't seen anyone in her family since she'd moved. Coughing and shaking her head to clear away warm images of the dinner table and pecan-pie scented memories, she piped up, "It'll, uh, be different, spending it that way."

Spending it alone, she'd thought churlishly, the kernel of distress popping in her gut as they passed the empty baseball diamonds. Blue eyes scanned over her, the inside of his cheek bitten as he considered something. Clearing his throat, Steve took a chance.

"You don't have to. I mean, if you'd like to, you could, um..." He paused, took a microsecond to breathe as she looked up at him curiously. He just turned thirty years old in July, he chided himself. He shouldn't be nervous about things like this. Putting on his half-smile, he turned back to her, wistfulness gathering in his expression. "Usually I head out to Bucky's parents' house for the day. My mom and I, we used to always hang out with them for holidays after my dad passed, and I kinda kept it up after she...well."

Holly, taken aback by the implication, lightly squeezed his arm. "Oh."

Dipping his chin once, he relished the curl of her fingers, muted by his coat as they were. Lifting a shoulder, he picked up on his thread after a few seconds.

"And you, you could come with me," he finished, invitation extended along with his hope. Before she could voice any form of objection, he hastily put forth, "His mom's kind of a 'the more the merrier' type of person. She'll probably like you, and to be honest, if she gets along with you, his dad will be okay with it. Well, she'll like you better than some of the girls Buck has brought home in the past."

She blinked, giggling after a couple of seconds. "Even Natasha?"

"Actually, she adores her, shockingly enough." He dared to shoot her a wink, unaware of the affect it had on her. "And since they're together again, so much the better."

"I don't know. I don't want to be rude, just show up at their house as some weird stranger."

"Tell you what: I'll give her a call, ask her if it's alright to upgrade my yearly invite to include a plus-one. It's gotta mean something if I vouch for you."

Holly stared at him for a long moment, incredulity and surprise at his offer giving way to gratefulness. Clearing his throat, he dug into his pocket, ready to make the call, when she strode right up to him, arms slinging around his shoulders and hugging him tightly. Automatically, he wrapped his arms around her and held her against him. The coconut scent of her shampoo tickled his nose as he breathed, the lowest hitch in his throat resounding inside him when her breath fanned over his ear.

"You're too nice to be real sometimes," she was saying, the ghosting words resonating deep within him. Her broad grin as she pulled away made him flush, and he merely shrugged at her pronouncement. He heard a snicker, and he glanced up to see her eyebrows rise. "Was that the non-verbal equivalent of an, 'aw, shucks?'"

He shrugged again, all too pleased in that moment. "Must have been."

Her spirits lifted significantly, she strode alongside him as he retrieved his phone, the call made quickly and permission secured well before they finished their walk.

On that Thursday morning, Steve crowded into Natasha's car with Holly, intent on striking out for the Barnes household. It was a brand new sports vehicle she took great pride in (and a good chunk of change had to be dropped for legal purposes, so she felt she had no reason not to be), the passenger seat going to Bucky and the back seat was theirs. It wasn't a terribly wide bench, the pair of them crammed a bit like sardines, the heat from their bodies bleeding against each other as the system in the car swirled as well. It didn't take them long to cut across the borough to a more residential area, actual detached houses with more than a foot of space between them there. It was something of a matter of pride for Bucky and his family; though his childhood was nominally spent in the higher traffic areas, the Barnes clan moved to Bay Ridge right after he'd gone to college, just beyond Fort Hamilton.

Holly reckoned they had a right to be proud about it as the car parked on the street, the two-story home with pale blue siding and even a chimney running up to the sky looking neat in the row of houses. When asked about her first impression by Steve as they got out, she whispered that the fact that it had a yard and a private driveway was a welcome surprise. He'd chuckled at that, crooking out his arm to her as they walked up to the house behind their friends, with her poking him in the side and nodding to Nat and Bucky as their fingers threaded together. Before Bucky could even knock at the door, it was opening, an older woman with nearly black hair streaked with silver and hazel eyes happily welcoming them into the house. Winifred Barnes, or Winnie (as she insisted) ushered them inside, pleased to have her boy and his friends coming by and joining the rest of the family.

The inside of the house brought the word cozy to mind, with comfy, nearly overstuffed couches taking up the front living room, pictures of the family dotting the walls and the television turned down low as the Macy's Parade played on. The walls were in a warm yellow, woods and carpets running along those same lines. A ring of children were already set before it, all of them turning to look and screaming in delight when they saw their Uncle Bucky. And Steve, too, was accorded his fair share of hugs from the little ones when they'd jumped up and ran to them—the ones who were old enough to, at least. Bucky was the middle child of five, though he seemed to hold as much authority as an eldest in the group. (Though his two older brothers made sure to knock him down a few pegs, in good humor, as they made their greetings to those assembled in the house.) The introductions to the older ones—John Tyler and Andrew Jackson, Johnny and Drew for short—and their wives, bled onto the ones for the younger—Abraham Lincoln, called Bram, and Rebecca with her husband and two children.

("George is kind of a history buff," Steve had explained to her, nodding across the room to the Barnes patriarch seated in the big armchair, hair as dark as his sons' and eyes the color of the sky behind thick-rimmed glasses. "Wanted to name his kids after presidents. Then Becca came and Winnie apparently cheered in the delivery room because she wouldn't have to do that again.")

The brood of grandchildren whirled around their parents, their aunts and uncles, and even the friends that had come with Bucky, the smaller ones gravitating a lot towards Natasha. The redhead always happily scooped them up as they played around her, and with a sly look, she directed one or two towards Holly. A little unsteady, the brunette managed to get along well enough with the kids, even going so far as to give Drew's youngest daughter a piggyback ride as she went into the kitchen to ask if Winnie needed any help.

The overwhelming sensation of family and togetherness, which Holly had feared she would lack that year, charged at her, wrapping around her as she assisted in both setting the extended table and gathering up the kids to sit at the smaller one nearby. Once the food was ready and everyone was seated, the prayer was conducted by George, his rough, rumbling voice encompassing them all. It took less than the passing of two dishes before one of Bucky's brothers decided to ask about her, about how she knew him and Steve. Having managed to dodge the barrage that she knew was coming her way until then, she let her mouth quirk into a grin as she answered, her nerves trembling as she felt the scrutiny increase. Her accent intrigued them, prompting an inquiry of where she was from and what she did for a living as well. She answered as best as she could, keeping her tone even and friendly despite the quakes in her stomach. When they finally gave her a break a few minutes in, turning onto Johnny and his wife's impending third child, she took a breath, a wry chuckled pushed out through her nose. Under the table, she felt fingers wedging under her palm, and she looked up in time to see Steve give her a reassuring grin and squeeze her hand. She shifted in her chair, closer to him, the action unnoticed by the others save for the elder woman at the foot of the table, her eyebrow arching slightly and a secretive grin on her lips.

When the meal finished, the large group dispersed within the house, the elder brothers and Becca's husband following Bram into the basement so as to show them the progress he'd made in finishing it with their father. Their wives gathered up the leftovers and stored them in the fridge and freezer before retiring back to the dining room table, wine and a few pieces of gossip not said at dinner traded between them. The brood of kids marched back into the living room, Holly and Steve padding over to the couch there and keeping an eye on them, the grandfather taking up the youngest (a baby, Rebecca's) and napping in his chair. The lively chatter of the children seemed to drown out the remainder of the house, affording moments of privacy in pockets.

"What's your take, Ma? On Holly," Bucky wondered as he helped sort out the dishes after the meal. It was a chore he'd taken up since he was a teenager, reasoning that since his mother always cooked, he could try and do something to help. It was a question he'd been waiting to ask for a little while; an outsider's perspective to the situation was called for, in his opinion. Beside him was Rebecca, dutifully drying with the big brother she admired most in the brood. From her perch at the small table in the nook across the way, Winifred shared a glance with Natasha, seated at the other end and arching an eyebrow. Shrugging, the older woman let a small smile grace her lips.

"She's a nice girl. I wonder when Steven will move past fussing around her and actually doing something about it."

Counting on his mother to glean what wasn't said between them, Bucky smirked smugly at thin air. "That would require him pulling his head out of his ass and figuring out she wants it, too," he muttered.

"James Buchanan," came her reprimand, and he shrugged.

"Sorry, didn't realize I would get in trouble for telling the truth," he replied smartly. He was paid back for it swiftly by a slap upside the head, courtesy of his sister. "Ow!"

"You've got a point, though, Buck," Rebecca pointed out, glossing over the minor smack she dealt him as she squinted in thought. "If my oblivious butt can pick up what that girl's dropping, I don't know how he could miss it."

The playful jab at herself was met with a round of quiet chuckles, the swish of the water in the basins filling the silence that followed for a few moments. Huffing out a breath, Winnie leaned against the back of her chair, shaking her head.

"If he couldn't pick up on it fifteen years ago, it's doubtful he would have learned by now," she stated serenely. Catching the looks her children tossed at her, she spiked an eyebrow. "He might not have noticed, but Sarah told me about some of the little girls who did manage to see him."

Bucky blinked at that, while Rebecca nodded sagely. He, at the time, was a bit too caught up in himself—he was a teenager, it happened—to notice any girls giving his buddy the eye, but evidently his little sister knew about it as well. Clearing his throat, he scrubbed hard at the plate in hand, the last of the bunch.

"He's got his head buried so far into the sand after all the Carter crap went down, and she, well, I don't know what her deal is," he intoned, sliding the plate into the cool water and unplugging the heated side. From her spot at the nook table, Natasha chose to say her piece.

"She's probably afraid of hurting him like that, and that she's not enough for him." Another surprised glance was tossed her way from her fella, and she cupped a hand in the air. "Not that hard to figure out; the girl's pretty easy to read, if you read between the lines. She's wrong, though."

When the last plate was dried and stacked into the cupboard, the two siblings joined their mother and the redheaded beauty, sliding into chairs and muttering agreements to her statement. Winnie tapped a finger against the light grain, chancing a look over her shoulder through the arch behind her. Opening onto the living room, she could spy the brunette perched on the couch, Becca's little boy toddling up to her and tugging at her legs to climb up. Steve, sitting right next to her, scooped him up, tickling his belly and giggling with him before setting the boy in the girl's lap. A broad smile stretched her mouth, and she looked at him for a bit longer than one would strictly do for a friend, called away from it by the rocking toddler in her lap. As she brought him up to bounce on her knee, Winnie exhaled and turned back to the young people around her.

"Dancing around it, but not doing anything about it. Heard that story more times than I care to admit." And she had; with five children of her own, plus Steve and even Natasha when she needed an escape from her own family woes, she was well aware of the strife that could come with such a situation. Shaking her head, she murmured, "Wonder how it will end?"

Bucky snorted audibly. "Given that she'll be leaving at the end of March, the answer seems to be not good. And that's the other part of her deal."

A light rap came at his ankle under the table, and he jerked in his seat. When Nat frowned at him, he let an eyebrow spike before rubbing his sore joint. His words had nothing to do with his personal opinion of Holly; truth be told, he rather liked her. He liked how good she was to Steve, and how good she'd been for him over the last few months. But he wold be remiss if he didn't note the obvious fact of her leaving, which would definitely put a damper on things, at the very least.

"Hmm," Winnie returned, crossing her arms and mulling over the information presented to her. At her left, her daughter blew out a breath and canted her head.

"God, you'd think this teenage crush crap would've ended by this point in our lives, huh?" Becca remarked, rueful snickers passed around at that.

"In my experience, it never really ends. It just morphs with age," her mother remarked, sound for all the world like a wise woman of old imparting her knowledge. "Kind of like wine, except it tends to sour more quickly the further down the road you get."

Natasha arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "So more akin to milk, then, Winnie?"

The older woman winked at her. "Yes, Miss Natalia."

"Ugh, who let my mother come to the party?" the redheaded beauty groaned, letting her head fall onto the table's surface. A collective wince went around her companions, more so for the thunk her head made as opposed to the comment. (Although, there would have been ample reason to wince at that; Natasha's mother—known as Madame B to those unfortunate enough to get on her bad side—was a cold, calculating woman. Any comparisons made to her were not to be taken lightly.)

"Hey, now," Winifred chided her, reaching across the table and teasingly swatting her arm. The matter was dropped abruptly as the brunette woman came into the room, the crying toddler on her hip begging for his mommy and her obliging him by bringing him to Rebecca. It turned to lighter matters, the remaining hours in company spent with the flow running back and forth with nary a hitch.

When it came time to leave, Holly was shocked at the embrace she received personally at Winifred's behest, the older woman telling her to come back anytime. As Steve took his turn, she admonished him to take care of the brunette at his side, something that caused pink to flood into his face and him to choke out a cough. Deliberately choosing to gloss over his reaction, Holly tugged on his arm, pulling him out the door and back to Natasha's car, leftovers in hand and her heart filled in a way that she hadn't thought would be that day. Back into bustle and flow they went, back to their neighborhood with the glowing streetlamps and the people milling around even after dark on a winter's night. Thanking Nat and Bucky for taking her along, she was surprised—and deeply pleased—when Steve scrambled out of the car with her, insisting on walking her to the door since they were parked down the block. The other two called their good-byes, their eyes riveting on their friends as they strode away.

"So, what did you think?" Steve asked her midway to her doorstep. A frisson of worry washed through him. By default, the Barnes brood had become his by extension, and while he knew that they could all make nice with one another, he genuinely hoped that Holly would like them. And they her, which appeared to be the case when they'd left and Winnie had given her a hearty hug farewell. The smile she gave him was subdued, but he could see that it was due more to her being tired than anything that could have been taken personally.

"That was intense...but no worse than any holiday spent with my family," she pronounced, the keys in her hand jingling as she pulled them out of her pocket. Her smile grew warmer as she leaned against the outer door of her building, looking up at him. "It was nice. Felt a little like home."

"Yeah," he agreed, scuffing the toe of his boot on the stoop and casting a wistful glance down. "Being with them reminds me of Mom, and it, it feels good."

"Yeah." Inside, she was grateful for the Barnes family being as welcoming as they had been. It eased the pain and sadness deep within at not being able to see her own family as much. And she was thankful that Steve had sought out a way to ease it for her, since they'd done the same for him. Sweet man, she thought, and not for the first time. Sweet, good man.

Another moment or two passed, and then Steve gathered her up into a hug, one that she happily reciprocated even as she acknowledged it would signal his departure.

"Thank you for coming with," he said, withdrawing from her arms after several, long seconds.

"Well, thanks for taking pity on me," she tried to joke, brushing it off with a wave and looking down. However, he was not of a mind to indulge her in that. Instead, he captured her hand with his, the fingers of the other coming up and pressing gently under her chin. Tilting it up so that he could look her in the eye, he watched as puffs of air coursed out of her nose, the clouds in the cold filtering away from them.

"It wasn't pity, and you know it," he chided her softly, blunting the words even further with a half-grin. His fingers, chilling in the cold, still felt warm against her skin, his thumb brushing along her jawline as his palm moved to cup along the side of her neck.

The gesture made something inside her tremble and shudder, but not in a bad way.

"I...um..." she stuttered, unable to find her tongue in that moment. Bright eyes latched onto hers, holding her in the moment for quite awhile. Soon enough, though, Steve started to step back, his hand holding hers not letting go as he moved.

"Good night, Holl." Fingers trailed away from hers, breaking his hold on her, and he turned, heavy steps plodding through the accumulated snow on the sidewalk and drifting around him as he left.

"Night, Steve," she replied, the cold in the air not bothering her in the slightest as she watched him leave, the rapid thumping of her heart not slowing until he finally disappeared into Natasha's car. A low sigh poured out of her then, and she entered her building, the thrum in her veins carrying her up to her apartment.

 **xXxXxXx**

The weeks in between the holidays proceeded in a state of warmth and vivacity, despite the death of the old season and the freezing cold of the air as the world around them changed. Wry smiles and the deep, thrumming undercurrent running between Steve and Holly hummed on, edging closer and closer to the surface. It came in the little things, the conversations on the phone that happened more and more frequently, the weird and funny texts exchanged during the day. The sidelong glances, the strength of his hold on her when he gave in and agreed to go skating with her and Wanda one night. Each little moment brought everything closer and closer, drawing them in. However, Steve always reined himself in at the last moment, before crossing the line into something more. He was waiting for the right time, working through the anxieties and fears of the past (he'd come quite a long way in three years, but it was hard to shake the feeling that he could just as easily screw up with Holly as he had with Peggy).

He knew, though, as she gave him a final hug before heading through the security checkpoint at the airport, when she was to fly home the night before Christmas Eve, that he wouldn't be able to delay much longer. Nor did he want to. After Christmas, he promised himself, would he declare his intentions. And then he snorted at himself, blaming the cruddy novel Holly had borrowed to him weeks ago (to show him how awful it truly was) for affecting him.

For his part, his holiday would be spent at the Barnes house, a few days of self-awarded vacation prescribed to both him and Bucky. With Rebecca's family going over to her in-laws in Pennsylvania for the holiday, and Bucky's older brothers coming for the day of, there definitely were rooms available. His was one close to the stairs, all in blues and greens from walls to bedspread. It was on said bedspread that he was stretched out, taking a moment of peace before heading down for the evening meal.

The phone in his pocket buzzed, jarring him, and he hastily retrieved it, an unbidden smile creeping onto his face as he noted the sender's name at the top. Swiping through, he opened up the message, a snort ripping out of him then.

 _ **It's almost Christmas. May I open my gift now, please?**_ Holly pleaded via text message, the very question she asked one that she'd broached at the airport when he'd given it to her. Then, he'd remonstrated her, telling her to wait. Now, a few days on, it just made him chuckle and roll his eyes to the ceiling. Evidently Christmas was to Holly as Halloween was to Wanda, and he let a slow breath out his nose.

 **Good Lord, you're worse than a three-year-old.**

It took a couple of minutes before she tapped out her reply and sent it. _**So is that a yes, or what?**_

He had to hand it to her; her tenacity was alive and well, as ever. Quibbling over the idea in his head for a few moments, he eventually relented.

 **Well, it's Christmas Eve. I'll be nice...this time. Go ahead.**

 _ **Sweet!**_ Her immediate response was followed swiftly by two more, the intensity in them ratcheting up as the seconds went by. _**Oh my God. Steve, you didn't. YOU DID NOT.**_

The man in question smirked to himself, a frisson of warmth spreading through his chest before he typed.

 **Oh, I did.**

The text bubble appeared then, went away, and then came back after a few moments. A picture came through, of her holding the book up and the wide smile she sported. It covered a portion of her dark red sweater, though he thought he could detect the shape of a certain Sith Lord peeking out from behind the book. The message underneath really said it all, though.

 _ **A special edition copy of**_ _ **The Lord of the Rings**_ _ **. Jesus, Mary and Joseph...**_

 **And all the saints,** he retorted soon after that. Biting his lip, he thought back to when he'd found that particular copy online, a godsend in a moment of despair when he'd had no idea what to get her. The gold-painted edges and green-covered bindings called out to him, said her name in a way that he could not ignore it. Shrugging to himself, he continued, **You said you wanted a replacement for the ones that were falling apart.**

 _ **Yeah, but a special edition?! Holy shit.**_

He laughed outright, deciding to be cheeky with her. **Watch your mouth, young lady. ;)**

 _ **I still can't believe it. Thank you so much,**_ her next message began, a new one popping up shortly thereafter. _ **And shut up! I was in shock and awe! :-P**_

 **I could tell.**

 _ **Still am, if I'm being honest. Lol, my present to you might be a little lame in comparison.**_

Steve furrowed his brow at thin air, swiftly typing to reassure her. **Don't say that. I bet it's great. :)**

 _ **Well...you'd know for sure if you opened it,**_ she told him a few seconds after that, and he could almost feel the sly glance she was channeling through her message to him. Unconsciously, he raised an eyebrow at it.

 **I do have self-restraint, unlike some people I could mention.**

 _ **Aww, come on, don't make me be the only one. I can wait, take your time.**_ As if sensing his hesitation, the text bubble on the screen blipped, another message coming through seconds later. _**Just go open it already, Nerfherder. :P**_

The rumble of chuckle reverberated in his chest at that; she'd lately gotten into the habit of calling him that name from _Star Wars_. Which was well enough, since he gave her a bit of her own back and often retaliated with "Princess" (which she scoffed at, even as she smirked at him). Another sigh ripped out of him, and he got up to do just that. The present she'd given him sat in the far corner of the room. He had determined not to touch it before the day of, but he could hardly deny her the insistence of opening it. Not when she gave him permission to do so. Shuffling through, he pulled it out. It was wrapped in shiny, dark blue paper, and glittering snowflakes flecking off onto his skin as he palmed it. It wasn't terribly heavy, and wrapped a bit strangely, but he wasted little time thinking about that, returning to his spot on the bed. Ripping into the paper, his eyes widened as it revealed what she'd gotten him.

At first he thought it was a satchel, sort of like the flimsy one he'd gotten secondhand for Halloween. But when the paper surrounding was fully removed, he realized he was wrong. It was a carrying case, the leather warm in his grasp as he turned it over. No tags or anything were attached, and a little card dropped to the floor, a web store advertising it as one of its special wares. The clips on the removable strap clinked as he flipped open the latches on it, the small sketchbook and two pencils tucked inside the pockets. The pencils themselves were decent enough, but he was more impressed with the case in its entirety. It was something he'd been looking into getting since he was of the habit of bringing his work with him almost everywhere, but had just kept putting it off.

Thanks to Holly, he wouldn't have to anymore. On impulse, he flipped it open again, going straight to the sketchpad and pushing the cover back. At that, he chuckled; the first page was already taken, with a holiday greeting scrawled in large, looping letters and signed off by her. Reaching back, he grabbed his phone, rapidly tapping out his thanks to her.

 **Holly, this is great. How did you get this?**

 _ **Magic, my good man. I'm pure magic**_ , she told him, quickly returning to the conversation as well. He could picture the self-satisfied grin she was most likely sporting at that moment, as well as the slide into self-deprecation that came on its heels as she professed, _ **Credit card helped, too.**_

 **You're something else, that's for sure.** More than he could express via text message, but he could only hope that his words would suffice. And given her following message, he could see that they did, at least in part.

 _ **I try. ;) Well, I'm getting called out. Have to socialize, lol. I'll talk to you later, okay?**_

 **Okay,** he responded. Looking at the blinking bar of his onscreen keyboard, he took his chance and sent his parting words. **If I don't hear from you beforehand, merry Christmas, Holly.**

 _ **Merry Christmas, Steve,**_ she replied, the conversation bubble gone and his phone still for the first time in awhile. Leaning back against his pillow, he let out a long breath, his arm flopping off the edge of the bed and his phone dangling between his fingertips. Slowly, a pleased, hopeful smile started to grow as his free hand patted the carrying case, and he closed his eyes.

"Steven, you going to join us downstairs?" a voice piped up from the opened doorway. Caught by surprise, the blond man jumped a little, the phone falling from his hand to the floor. Muttering a curse under his breath, he stooped to pick it up as his ears began to burn pink. Glancing up, he grinned sheepishly at Winnie, the older woman smirking slightly as she folded her arms over her chest.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, got caught up talking to...uh, a friend," he replied, scratching the back of his neck as he sat up. Winifred gave him a skeptical glance, dropping her hands to rest on her hips.

"Uh-huh," she muttered, taking a step into the bedroom. Before Steve could do more than swing his legs over the side of the bed, she clicked her tongue and blurted, "Sweetie, I love you like you're one of my own, but you need to get your head out of your butt."

Steve blinked, a little taken aback by her bluntness. "What?"

The older woman sighed audibly, rubbing a finger at her temple.

"You're thirty years old, I shouldn't have to tell you the same things I, and your own mother—God rest her soul—told you when you were sixteen," she remarked, a tiny cross made over her heart. Her finger came up then, jabbing in his direction and demanding his full attention. It worked, much as it had when he was younger. "But, good Lord, if you don't get off your ass and tell that girl how you feel, I swear there is a smack upside the head with your name on it come Easter. You understand me?"

The older woman nearly broke her stern facade as the young man before her gaped like a fish, mouth dropped open and hard breath taken in at her threat.

"Winnie..." Steve trailed off, scrubbing his hands over his face and conceding defeat to her. Denying it would get him nowhere, and to be frank, he didn't want to do so. Not any longer. "I know, I'm working on it."

"Good," she remarked, striding fully into the room and hugging him hard. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he barely reciprocated before she was pulling back, tugging on his sleeve. "Now, come downstairs, before Bram eats your share of dinner."

Steve snickered and rolled his eyes. "Again."

Across the hall, the door whipped open, a lanky young man with dark curls and sharp green eyes glaring at them without heat.

"It was one time, Ma! One time!" Bram retorted, having caught the tail end of the conversation and having none of it. Once he said his piece, he exited the room, preceding them down the stairs. Chuckling under her breath, Winnie merely shook her head and gave Steve another pat on the shoulder, with him following her out and down to dinner.

Meanwhile, less than an hour later and in another timezone, Holly returned the bedroom she was camped out in for the holiday. The downstairs bedroom was lit by a single lamp, with the young woman within stretched horizontally across the mattress on her belly. She'd just finished eating with her family, catching up with her brother and niece, and her sister and her two kids along with her husband, and just needed a moment to recollect herself, especially after some choice comments were made at the meal.

Picking at a loose thread on the comforter beneath her, she cupped her chin in her hand, her thoughts whirling as she absently kicked her legs back and forth. So lost in thought was she that she failed to hear the partially open door creak in further, or to notice the person filling the frame. She did notice when the door was shut firmly, and she glanced up as her brother came into the room, plopping down and taking a seat on the foot of the bed. He combed his mop of brown hair, only a shade or two lighter than her own, out of his hazel eyes as he stared at her intently. Wondering if something was the matter, Holly pushed herself up onto her knees just as Hank flapped his hand at her.

"Spill."

Still nonplussed, she stammered, "What?"

Hank breathed out a long, put-upon sigh, all in jest. When she responded with a dubious glance, he made to speak his piece.

"I know when you've got something on your mind, Holl. Plus, you kinda railroaded over Mom's enthusiasm at dinner," he said, shooting her a knowing look. It was something both he and their dad had noticed, and he had taken it upon himself to ask first. "Not exactly hard to figure out."

Unable to denying her brother's points, she lifted a shoulder. "Yeah, well...maybe I'm not trying that hard on purpose."

"Either way, we're talking about it."

She looked away then, down to her knees. "Why should we?"

He lifted a shoulder, smirking at her. "Because it's either that or keep stewing in the dark for the rest of the night."

"I'm not stewing. And the lamp's on. I'm just...considering," she flared up, the quake in her stomach returning again. It had surfaced rapidly during the meal her family shared, the guilty little twist biting into her as her mother talked about all the work they'd have to do to move her back to the Midwest. However, she was not of the same mind, and hadn't been for awhile. She'd told no one, as of yet, but she could feel the graze of her brother's hazel gaze, and knew it was time to confess. Picking at the seam of her jeans, she said, "I've been thinking about not moving back here in a few months."

Giving him a moment to absorb her news, she waited as he tsked under his breath before shrugging his shoulders.

"...Okay."

She blinked at his lack of reaction, puzzled.

"That's all you have to say?"

Hank shot her a look that clearly asked whether she was being serious. "What? You're an adult; you can make your own decisions. If I were in your position, I sure as hell wouldn't move back here. Frankly, I'd pack up Jodie in the truck and haul off on my own, if I could. Go south, get out of the frozen tundra."

Holly eyebrows inclined a fraction. "I'm sure Ashley would have something to say about that."

The mention of Hank's ex-wife made his expression turn sour for a few seconds.

"She has a lot to say about everything," he mumbled, physically shaking off the thought of her and resuming his previous theme. "Point being, if you wanna stay out there, then stay out there. From what you've said, you've been doing something with yourself out there."

"Gee, thanks, _Dad_ ," she riposted sarcastically, kidding him over the tone he used often with his own daughter. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he groaned aloud.

"Didn't mean it that way. I meant that you're doing stuff, and you're happy." That was true, at least in his eyes. Holly hadn't been happy for a long time; she had been a little lost since graduation, something that she settled into over the years as they passed. When she took the chance to head out East, the spark that had been dulled inside her seemed to have flared, and Hank couldn't help but be pleased for her. It was what his youngest sister needed, and he wouldn't begrudge her that in the slightest. Knowing that her concern did not lie with him, he stated softly, "Mom will get over it; she'd rather you be happy out there, than miserable here. Even if you spend half your time fending off murderers and muggers."

"Not even true...except for the one time," she corrected herself, jabbing a finger in his direction sternly. "Which Mom still doesn't know about, so don't tell her."

"Right, right. Besides, you came out of that fairly decently."

"Good thing Steve was there."

"Oh God, you're doing the mushy-face thing again," Hank groaned, ignoring his sister's eye roll. Well, she had; her voice took on a light quality as the guy's name passed her lips, her expression softening significantly. Deciding to mock it, he brought his hands up to his face, adopting a dreamy look and teasing in a breathy, high-pitched whisper, "'Oh, Steve!'"

That earned him a disgusted snort and a playful smack on the arm. "How old are you, really?"

The older brother wagged a finger at his little sister, chiding her, "Please, don't even start with the deflection and the denial crap."

In that moment, all the protestation went out of Holly, blatant honesty written all over her face.

"Fine, then."

"Woah, you didn't even fight me on it," he murmured, peering at her closely. Hazel eyes went wide as dark brown met him squarely, red flushing into her cheeks at his scrutiny. "That bad, huh?"

"Shut up, Hank."

He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Have you written your names together on your notebook yet?"

She scoffed audibly, and she crossed her arms. "Only did that once, and I was twelve. I'd like to think I've grown up since then."

"You'd think that," Hank retorted, patting her shoulder jovially. After a minute or two, he let the hilarity fade, seriousness returning to his expression as he considered something. Taking a hard look at his sister, he had to ask, "He's not the reason why you're staying out there, is it?"

A frown blossomed on her lips then, and Holly shook her head.

"No, of course not. I mean, New York City's supposed to be good for writers, and I've gotten a good set of short stories done over the last few months. I think I'm ready to parlay that into a book, and I've been working on some other stuff, too."

"Yeah. Good," he murmured absently, raking a hand through his hair. Noting that the stiffness of her posture had not abated, he coughed once. "Look, I wasn't trying to be a dick, okay? I'm not saying staying for friends shouldn't be a reason, but so long as it's not the whole reason. And definitely not for just one person...unless you're already married to them." Another fast glance was sent her way, and he couldn't resist poking her a little. "Though given how often you two are together, I've begun to wonder."

She sat back on her bottom, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her heart fluttered at his words, at the implication that she really wasn't imagining her feelings to be one-sided, but she couldn't indulge in them. Going that route had broken her heart before.

"It's not like that," she denied quietly, and her brother grimaced at it.

"Keep telling yourself that while reading the special edition copy of your absolute favorite books he got you for Christmas," he remarked sardonically, jerking his thumb over to where the book was perched on the nightstand. She mentioned it at dinner, praising the guy to the heavens for remembering, and what he'd heard was something completely different than what she implied on the surface. With a wink, he supplied, "Purely because you're friends, of course. Not to mention all the other stuff he's done with you over the last few months."

He let that sink in for several seconds, let her see what he'd picked up on during their video chats and phone calls to one another. He certainly wasn't ignorant of her feelings toward him, and, not to give away trade secrets about his own sex, but when _he_ was interested in someone, he definitely looked for an excuse to be with them. And the Steve guy found a lot of excuses to be with his sister in the past, if her stories were anything to go by.

Why they were still stalling at that point was beyond him, but he would not let it continue much longer.

If Holly was going to be all squishy-faced about some man, there better be something to be squishy-faced about other than a grade-school crush.

"You're not dumb, Holl," he began, patting her back gently. "I mean, about some things, you totally are—"

"Hey!" she spouted, indignant at her pride being stung by an older sibling's comment. Hank held up his palm, urging her to hear him out.

"—But you can't be about this. Just man up and tell him, and get it over with." His tone had gentled, and his sincerity was clear in his gaze. For several long seconds, she stared at him, eyes wavering, before he chose to force a laugh and mutter, "I don't want you to call me crying about this in the middle of the night because you waited too long and you're stuck."

His joking jab at her was brushed off as she thought furiously, a hand scrubbing over her forehead. Drinking in all that he had told her, the advice worming inside and breaking away at the layers she'd drawn up against her infatuation, she soon enough tilted her head to the left, squinting at her brother.

"...Did you seriously just tell your little sister to _man up_?"

His eyebrows rose, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah. Got a problem with it?"

"I figured _you_ would."

An eyebrow spiked at that. "Would you rather I play the overprotective brother role? Because I could. Be picking up right where I left off when you started high school."

"No!" she nearly shouted, brushing her hands in the air as if to erase the thought. She definitely did not need a return to those days, back when her older brother would routinely prank any guy who dated her as a matter of course. Granted, he couldn't do much to Steve, due to location alone, but she wouldn't put it past him to try, if he thought he could get away with it. "That's, that's not necessary."

Luckily for her, Hank was of the same mind.

"Good, because I've got enough to worry about with Jodie and her little 'boyfriends' right now." He gave a mocking shudder at that. "Don't need the piling on."

Holly sniffed, shaking her head and tucking back some of her loose hair behind her ear. "Grateful for your concern, Hank."

He'd gotten up to leave, but paused at her words.

"Hey," he murmured mildly, grabbing his sister's attention. Genuine concern and care lit his features, and he inclined his head at her. "Really, just...just be honest when you get back out there. About everything. It will be better all around."

He waited until she'd given him another nod before gathering her up into a hug, an invitation passing for her to join him at the pool table in the rec area just outside her door. The thoughts in her head had calmed somewhat, one course of action decided upon before she got up and joined him.

She would tell Steve. When she was home, she would tell him, and face her future from there.

 **xXxXxXx**

With her brother's good advice and her bags in tow, Holly returned to New York with, if not a lighter heart, then at least one with its priorities in order. She meant to do as she promised herself; she would tell Steve the truth about her feelings, among other things, the next time she saw him. Unfortunately, it was not to be the day she returned home; her flight got in incredibly late, and she could do no more than text him that she had landed safely before wandering up to her apartment and face-planting on her bed in exhaustion. A few work shifts the days after also stood between her and her intended goal, but she was actually grateful for the buffer of time. Telling anybody how one felt for them often required a great deal of courage, and she knew she would need it to follow through with the idea of telling him the truth. The shifts at the coffee shop and the year-end administrative day she took for the studio did enough to keep her occupied, her new book toted around and devoured on her breaks.

New Year's Eve ended up being the next time she could see him in person, a party being hosted at his loft for the occasion. Working the morning shift at the cafe, she managed to finagle the next day off from both places, Clint telling her to at least not blow anything up that night before wishing her well. As she was home well before the time of the party, she mentally worked out what she would say to Steve. As a rule, when it came to speeches of that manner, she generally kept it as organic as possible (she wasn't addressing the nation, after all, and she wasn't about to write her own cue cards for it). Still, she mocked up a general outline in her head, her brain playing out worst and best case scenarios as she finished her dinner and began to dress for the evening. Fingers played and jumped nervously along her coat as she took a cab over on the icy streets, the cabbie giving her a sympathetic glance when he noted the anxiety in her face. Forcefully pushing it away and bidding him a pleasant farewell (and tipping him well; it sucked working a holiday, which she knew firsthand), she got out at her destination, darting quickly down the alley to the back stairwell instead of ringing at the studio door. The back door locked from the inside, so she knew that she had to text somebody to let her in. Sending her arrival text to a few of the attendees, she felt her heart thump almost painfully when Steve opened the door for her, his bright smile penetrating the cold around her. Ushering her in, he led the way up the stairs, fingers curling around her wrist as they went and causing butterflies to erupt once again.

She rolled her eyes at herself. Stupid, tawdry romance novels, she groused inwardly, filling her brain with nonsense phrases that were all to applicable to certain situations.

Her coat was shed the moment she entered the main space, her attention taken by happy greetings passed around by the other party-goers (Steve's attention, unbeknownst to her, lingered on the dark blue sweater dress and leggings she wore, the click of her boots jarring him out of his brief reverie). Thor, as always, said his hellos bombastically, sweeping her up into a rocking hug before setting her back on her feet again. Sam Wilson gave her a much gentler hug, Wanda coming up behind him and concurring before slipping her arms around his waist and letting her chin rest on his shoulder. She couldn't stop herself before her eyebrows nearly hit her hairline; last she heard, Sam was angling after the girl from reception at work, and Wanda wasn't really looking. From the couch, she caught Natasha snickering, waving her over to join her and Jane. Bucky, having previously been leaning his arms against the back of the sofa, retreated with a wide grin shot at her, his blue eyes ricocheting away from Holly to a point over her head. Actually stiffening her spine not to look, she engaged in conversation with her friends, talk encompassing what each of them had done for the holidays and the line-up for the ball drop presentation on television that night. Drinks and snacks were indulged in, with the music on the television sometime being enough prompt a butchered chorus of song from her companions.

And, for a good portion of the evening, a certain blond companion hardly left her side, sitting close to her and making the damn butterflies in her stomach attempt a rumba on occasion.

Near midnight, Steve pivoted towards the kitchen, deciding to grab some glasses and the cheap champagne picked up at the liquor store a few blocks away. Volunteering to help, Holly shuffled after him, the looks passed behind them among their friends entirely escaping her notice. The task was accomplished swiftly, the bottle popping and the drink poured out for each of them. Setting all on an old cutting board of his, he passed it carefully through the door to Bucky, roping him into distribution while he quickly tidied up the kitchen. Hanging back, Holly helped him roll up chip bags and stash them away, the veggies still out pushed into their containers and back into the fridge. Her reward, it turned out, was a topped-off glass of champagne—he'd caught her sipping at hers surreptitiously, and she'd only shrugged and laughed. The easy conversation between them lulled, and she took a moment to breathe.

"Thanks again for the book, by the way," she told Steve, retreating to the other side of the narrow kitchen with her drink. Her gaze ran over him for a moment, from his royal blue button-up with the rolled-back sleeves to his dark jeans, and she repressed a shiver. Grinning wryly over it, she took a long sip before uttering, "I'm not sure how I can repay you."

"Nothing to repay," he told her. Off her unsure look, he set his own glass on the counter, reaching out and brushing away her concerns with his palm. Donning a half-grin, he assured her, "Really. I'm glad you like it."

"Well, it is my favorite book series mashed into one," she noted, tipping her head to the right. "You would've had me with used paperbacks from Amazon."

He snapped his fingers in an 'oh darn' gesture. "If I'd known it would be that easy, I would've gone that route."

"Yeah, I think we both went a tad over the spending cap this year," she responded, smirking as she rose up to sit on the counter behind her. Once she was situated, she brushed down the skirt of her dress, one foot swinging back and forth. Steve, following the line of her legs from the skirt to the boots she was wearing, cleared his throat audibly and shook his head.

"Didn't realize there was one," he mouthed, hooking a thumb into the pocket of his jeans and glancing up at the ceiling. He might have gone a tad overboard on his spending when he bought the book for her, but he wasn't about to admit that. Not when it had made her so happy. Dropping his gaze down, he grinned at her and shrugged. "Worth it, though. Right, Princess?"

Now her smirk was a genuine smile. "Yeah, yeah, ya Nerfherder."

A minute or two of quiet descended upon them, with it only broken by the others in the living room chattering over the presenters on the television. Drinking deeply from her glass for a last ounce of courage, Holly made herself look Steve in the eye, her fingers plucking at the fabric of her dress as she started to speak.

"So, I may kinda have some news. You know how I had thought I'd be leaving at the end of March?"

Steve nodded at her, recalling that fact all too well.

"Yeah, why?" His brow furrowed as a thought occurred to him, and his jaw seemed to tick. A flood of disappointment, of distress, washed over his features, and his stomach tightened before he could manage to say, "Oh...are you, are you leaving earlier? I, I didn't—"

Witnessing the fall in his face, her hands flew up, rapidly swiping through the air as if to stop it.

"No! I mean, I just...ugh," she groaned, her head tipping back against the cabinets behind her and thumping hard. Her fingers started to tug at the hem of her dress, and she snickered humorlessly at herself. "Why can't I talk? I have no problems talking about nothing, but the moment I try to actually say something, I'm crap."

"Holl," he countered, breaking her spiral and bringing her back to her original thought.

"Anyway, what I was trying to say is that I'm not moving earlier. I'm keeping it up in the air."

Steve froze in his spot, unwilling to break the moment by crossing to her in case he'd heard incorrectly.

"Really?" he asked, sounding all at once like he'd been given a gift and that the very gift was going to be taken away from him with one wrong word. The tense set of his shoulders relaxed minutely when she nodded.

"Yeah. I didn't want to jinx it, but, well...I've been applying to publishing companies all around the city. I think working in that sort of environment will motivate me," she confessed, a secret she'd been keeping from them all over the past few weeks. Inclining her head at him, she pressed, "I've been trying to do something with writing for so long, and it would be a step in the right direction. And, well...I had a phone interview a few days ago."

As her features didn't contort in disappointment, Steve hazarded a guess. "It went well, I take it."

She canted her head, her smile not waning. "I think so. Well enough to schedule a second interview after the holiday."

The flicker of hope inside Steve was fueled, and he could not help but grin happily at her.

"So you're staying?" he asked, heart pounding at the idea that she would not leave just yet, that there was still time.

"Depending on if I do well in the one-on-one interview on Wednesday," she murmured, the foot thumping against the lower cabinets stilling. "Even if I don't, I don't think I want to leave just yet. New York's been good to me, better than I thought. A lot of awesome experiences are happening here, regardless of my employment. It just feels so...busy, thriving; I can't imagine leaving it so soon. And Brooklyn has been even better than that."

Steve snickered, glancing down at his feet. "Despite the craziness."

Holly's gaze ran over him then, her lip chewed as she steadied herself. Now or never, she chastised herself, pushing herself to go on with her point.

"Maybe because of it. Maybe because of the people I've met...I've made some good friends here. I've met great people. Or, at least one great person." She took a shaky breath, swallowing hard as she braced herself to go over the edge. Honesty, she had promised herself to be honest once she'd returned home, and she would see it through. Particularly with the man who deserved it. "He was far better to me than I deserved. Still is. I don't know what it would've been like if I hadn't met him. A lot less...well, just a lot less. I hope he knows that, at least."

She looked up at him then, away from the hands fidgeting in her lap and meeting his blue gaze directly. Steve blinked, spots of pink erupting along his cheekbones, but he didn't seem displeased at the notion. Not even remotely.

"I'm sure he does," he intoned, choosing to continue with the passive, third-person form she'd adopted. Leaning against the bank of counters behind him, he tapped a palm of his hand along the edge, shyly glancing away. "He probably thinks the same about you. Probably thinks you've helped him out in ways you don't even know about."

She gave a rueful snort, shaking her head and brushing back the wisps of the loose tendrils around her faces. "Doubtful. He would've managed without me just fine."

"He's glad he didn't have to, though," Steve replied firmly, willing her to hear the truth in it all. "And he's even gladder to know you're not going away."

"Why, because he'd miss me so much?"

"Yes, he would," Steve stated, every ounce of his sincerity flooding into the words. He would miss her terribly, were she to go. So terribly that the thought of it still made him sick to contemplate. The rate at which he'd fallen, so hard and fast in his mind, still baffled him, but it was true. The idea of Holly moving away, of not seeing her smile, not hearing her laugh and tease him, twisted his insides. Were she to go, it could very well lay him low for a long time, and he didn't want that to happen. Not before he had a chance to do anything. Meeting her gaze, he steeled himself to continue. "He doesn't want to lose you."

Dark eyes went impossibly wide, the corners of her mouth starting to curve up as the weight of the words hit her. Blinking rapidly, she cleared her throat twice before she took in a deep breath.

"I...I don't, either," she proclaimed, her voice only a few notches above a whisper. Just as he would miss her if she left, she found it hard to swallow to think of him not being present in her life. His sardonic nature, his strength inside as well as out, and his courage were things she didn't want to lose. Spreading her hands out, she declared, "If he wants me, I'm here."

He dipped a nod, the pink in his cheeks starker as Steve shifted in his stance. Opening his mouth to say something else, happy cheers erupted from the living room, floating in as their friends celebrated the ball drop and wished each other well. Half-turning toward the sound, Steve cleared his throat, and Holly pressed her shaking hands hard against her knees to make them stop trembling.

"It's New Year's," he muttered.

The seeming non-sequitur coming from him befuddled Holly for a moment. Her eyebrows quirked together, and the corner of her mouth turned up as she looked at Steve. His blue eyes seemed to grow brighter as he glanced back, his private thoughts amusing him somehow.

Lifting a shoulder, she wondered, "So?"

The word was barely out when he strode away from the opposite counter bank, moving directly in front of her. The amusement had slid away, intent locking over his features. Her breath hitched in her throat as his body heat washed over her, the sudden proximity of him at once too much and not enough. Eyes were riveted to his face as he came nearer, the blue in his retracting and giving way to his pupils. As the traditional song was blasted in the other room, the raucous celebration of friends attempting to sing along to the words Robert Burns penned all those years ago, nary a peep was heard from either of them. Instead, hunger and aching want hovered between them, as it had so often lately. Carefully, as though he thought he would spook her with his touch, his hands came up, first resting on her arms before coasting up. Heat raced through her veins, pooling lower than her stomach, and a minor tremor shot down her spine. The brush of his palms made her skin tingle, her face flushing as he continued to stare at her. His gaze flicked from her eyes down to her mouth, the pink tip of his tongue slipping out to wet his lips.

Hers parted to take a shaky breath, eyelids drooping, and that was all he needed. Hands cupped her face as he pulled her closer, claiming her mouth in a long-denied kiss. At first it was tender and sweet, chaste sips taken as they moved beyond the edges of their friendship and acted upon the mutual attraction that had burned for months. Soon enough, fingers slid into her hair, the tiniest of tugs persuading her to tilt her head a bit more, the brush of his tongue along her bottom lip causing her to gasp and concede. Opening up to him, the fire that had been burning low inside them fully ignited. Breathing heavily, Holly curled her fingers along the collar of Steve's shirt, need and desire overwhelming her in that moment. Legs wrapped around his waist, locking him closer to her as she met him on every pass, unbidden sighs and low moans at the backs of their throats. The heady intoxication, so different from the light buzz of alcohol experienced earlier, filled them as they met over and over, thrumming hard through their veins as hands wandered, tugged, pressed. Harsh breaths poured out of them when they broke apart, Steve's forehead bracing along Holly's as they took a few seconds to regain their faculties.

Swallowing hard, she sputtered, "I swear to God, if this is just a one-off, I'm gonna be—"

"Not a one-off, I promise," he murmured hurriedly, lips brushing over hers as he spoke. He had no intention of leaving her with only that, of depriving either of them now that they'd had a taste of what they'd both wished for. Wrapping his arms tight around her waist and pulling her flush against him, he gasped, "I want you."

She pulled back, her head bumping against the cabinet behind her. Cupping his cheek, she whispered back, "I'm not going anywhere."

The grin on his lips became a wide, crooked smile, matching with hers. Dipping his chin once, he accepted her kiss as she pulled him in again, hands roaming along her back and sides. The rest of the world ceased to exist in those moments, the two were so entangled with one another.

However, the world had continued to spin, and those others who inhabited it kept moving and living as well. And, of course, that included the other party-goers in the living room, just beyond the darkened panels. They failed to hear the soft footfalls approaching the kitchen, and they did not note the nearly-silent swing of the door as it was pushed in. On the open threshold, Bucky paused, eyes wide at the sight before him in the half-lit kitchen. The intention to grab drinks for himself and his own midnight kiss companion would have to wait, seeing as how the small space was so thoroughly occupied. It seemed that Stevie got his nerve after all, and Holly found her courage to reciprocate. Blinking once, twice, a smirk grew upon his lips, and he took a step backward.

If there was ever a moment to utter 'about damn time,' it would have been then. Bucky liked to think he was classier than that, and so kept his trap shut as he turned in the doorway. However, given that he wasn't about to let them off the hook entirely, he reached out for the abandoned chip bowl on the nearby counter and let it drop unceremoniously as he left. His laughter was barely smothered as the plastic banged and bounced across the linoleum, imagining the flushed, harried look on his friend's face as he beat a hasty retreat. The door swung comically open and shut for a few seconds, affording him the pleasure of breathy gasps and giggles following in his wake as he made his way back to Natasha's side.

It was still some time before Holly and Steve reappeared in the living room, faces flushed and hair skewed slightly. More telling than the rumpled clothes and the smudge of lipstick that was not fully wiped off of Steve's mouth were the wide smiles both of them sported, the hands linked together as he led her into the room. The change between them was noticed (and fast, if Natasha's significant glances and Bucky's smirk were anything to go by), but rather than be hit with rounds of questions, the others simply accepted it.

At that point, Thor had mumbled later when they were leaving, it was basically inevitable. It just took them both a little time to get there. There was no reason to make a big deal about it in company. (However, he and the others had come to the conclusion to completely lay into them when in private, some of them already banking up on the jokes and ribbing they would dole out for the pair of turtles taking forever to get to the finish line.) After a final toast shared among the group, the party-goers started to disperse, the last of them exiting the apartment just before one in the morning.

All except for a final guest, who remained at the host's insistence. It was so late, he'd reasoned, she might as well stay. Holly refused to argue with the logic, instead dropping the coat she'd fetched and striding over to Steve, eagerly going into his arms. They found themselves on the couch, the clean-up of the apartment relegated to the morning as they sat and talked. Well, not _just_ talked, mind you, but given that they were on the first, trembling legs of their acknowledged romantic inclinations, it wasn't as if they were about to go too far that night.

Both wanted more, more than a brief flash of physicality brought on by overwhelming feeling.

Still, they did indulge in a few more shared kisses, the television switched over to some inane comedy that neither paid attention to. A promise came from him to take her out properly sometime in the next few days, with her asserting that it would definitely happen before the week was out. Hearts thumped and fluttered as ever, now in anticipation as opposed to nerves and dread of possible rejection. After awhile, they were stretched out on the couch, Steve on his back as Holly draped over him. Though the physical intimacy of it was not lost on them, they adapted to it easily enough, with him toying with her hair and her tracing invisible patterns on his shirt. Boots had been kicked off, socked feet bumping against each other every time one of them shifted.

"I have something for you, by the way," he told her, raising his head up to watch as she looked down at him. Curiosity bloomed in her eyes, and he relished it. One palm squeezed her side as he went on, "It was going to be for your birthday, but I managed to get it finished ahead of time."

"Oh," she breathed in delight. After a moment, her brow furrowed, and she asked, "Are you going to make me wait for it now?"

Imbued with a bit of cheek, Steve let the corner of his mouth curl as he shrugged a shoulder.

"Well, maybe..." he trailed off, chuckling as she frowned at him. However, it was soon replaced by a slowly dawning grin, her eyebrows inclining a little. About to inquire what she was thinking, he felt her hands move down from his chest to his sides, fingers prodding his ticklish spots in an attempt to get her way. Unable to hold back on his flinches and laughter, he squirmed beneath her, trying to catch her hands for a few minutes as she gigged along with him. "Geez, stop! I was joking."

Pretending to consider his demand for a moment, she clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Hmm, nope."

Fingers skittered and brushed against him, delighting in the fiendish torment. Unable to take it much longer, Steve finally got a good grip on her wrists, crossing them and pinning them against his chest. Their shared laughter subsided after a minute or two, fond smiles remaining on their lips. Leaning up, he bumped the tip of her nose with his own.

"Hold on, let me go get it."

Her bright smile was worth losing the internal and external "fights", he decided as he wormed his way off the couch. Instead of heading further into the apartment, he grabbed up his keys from the end table by the entry, promising to be back shortly. Within a few minutes, he'd returned, gift in hand and his face pressed into an impassive mask as he locked up and trotted back to her.

It was a canvas, that much she could tell, roughly 16" by 20". Shooting him a quizzical glance, a gasp shot out of her when he turned the front to face her. The painted image was of her, sitting on the edge of a park bench in Prospect Park. The vibrant green of the trees surrounded her, her expression on the canvas lighting up as she stared out at the beholder. Mindlessly taking it from him, she scrutinized it closer, the thickness of the paint all too real as she traced a fingertip along the side. And beyond the bright shimmer in her dark eyes, there was more. She looked hopeful, happy...not perfect, by any means, but like herself, with a slight buff on the edges.

"Wow...you, you..." she stuttered, taken aback by his dedication to the extra piece, the effort he'd gone for her. Bashfully, he tipped his chin down, half-grin blossoming on his lips as he sat down beside her again.

"I told you I would finish it before you moved," he said, scooting closer to her and taking her hand. It was the truth; the sketch he'd made of her nearly a year prior would find its way to her. He just chose to dress it up a little. His eyes scanned her face intently, and he licked his lips. "You like it?"

Chancing one last look at the art in her hand, she carefully placed it on the coffee table before them. Tugging on his hand, she brought him closer, cupping his cheek with her fingers and drawing him in for another kiss.

"I love it," she told him, meaning every word and enjoying his wide, delighted smile. "It's so great, Steve."

Another hour ran down, the pair of them reverting to lying on the couch once more. Steve had gone around, dimming the lights as the night waned, edging ever closer to the next day. The television was off as well, leaving them both to their own devices in the meantime. However, with the lateness of the hour and the warmth of each other's bodies pressing to one another, their devices more and more resembled sleep. Conversation fell by the wayside, Holly muttering about going to bed. For a brief moment, Steve felt a flutter in his gut at that, hoping she wouldn't leave right then.

"Stay?" he whispered, the arm around her back tightening a fraction. Snuggling against him, she closed her eyes and nodded. Blindly she reached for the blanket strewn haphazardly over the back of the sofa, Steve's chuckles rumbling in his chest under her cheek as she did so. His hand was removed only to help her spread it over them both, her nose nuzzling against his shirt as she settled once more.

"For as long as you want me," she murmured softly, her grin twitching as she felt his lips press into her hair.

And stay she would as the four seasons turned again and again, both of them finding their place at one another's side.

* * *

 **A/N:** And that, my friends, is that. This is the official end of _Four Seasons_ , with the promise of more seasons together on the horizon for this lovely couple. This was a fun, little experiment to indulge in, and I'm glad that you all chose to indulge in it with me. And though this is the official end for this story, I may have a one-shot or two that could come as part of this universe. We will see.

I sincerely thank all of those who have followed, favorited, and reviewed this little story. It was actually quite a bit of fun for me, and your encouragement means so much. Thanks so, so much!

At least you guys still have _In Due Course_ to follow from this point...though I may have another AU project in the works. It may take awhile to bring about, but keep an eye peeled for that.

I hope the texting portion of the conversation in the middle wasn't too confusing for anybody. I tried to make it as clear as I could. :-S In canon, Bucky is the eldest brother of his family, but I decided to toy around with the idea of him being somewhere in the middle instead for this alternate universe. The brothers' names were my creation, but his sister Rebecca is from canon as well. Winifred is his mother's name, too. And yes, I named Bucky's siblings after presidents...because what other reason could there be to name even him James Buchanan if one of the parents wasn't a presidential history admirer?

Steve's portable sketchbook case is based off of one found on Etsy, and Holly's special edition of LOTR is the 50th anniversary edition with the green cover and the gold-painted pages.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text ( _The Lord of the Rings_ , _Star Wars,_ the Macy's Parade, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all in the next story!


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